AST  AND  PRESENT 


BY 

THOMAS  CARLYLS 


graft  ift  ba$  Seben. 

©critter. 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK,  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO 

BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO., 
Publishers. 


TROW'3 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK. 


CO^TE^TS. 


BOOK  I. — Proem. 

PAGE 

Chap.  I.  Midas   5 

II.  Sphinx....   10 

III.  Manchester  Insurrection   IB 

IV.  Morrison's  Pill   2G 

V.  Aristocracy  of  Talent   30 

VI.  Hero- Worship   35 

BOOK  II.— The  Ancient  Monk. 

Chap.  I.  Jocelin  of  Brakelond   41 

II.  St.  Edmondsbnry   48 

III.  Landlord  Edmund.   51 

IV.  Abbot  Hugo   58 

V.  Twelfth  Century   63 

VI.  Monk  Samson   67 

VII.  The  Canvassing   73 

VIII.  The  Election   76 

IX.  Abbot  Samson   83 

X.  Government   89 

XL  The  Abbot's  Ways  <   93 

XII.  The  Abbot's  Troubles   98 

XIII.  In  Parliament   103 

XIV.  Henry  of  Essex  ,   105 

XV.  Practical-Devotional  ,    109 

XVI.  St  Edmund   116 

XVII.  The  Beginnings    123 

BOOK  III. — The  Modern  Worker. 

Chap.  I.  Phenomena   133 

II.  Gospel  of  Mammonism   141 

III.  Gospel  of  Dilettantism   146 

IV.  Happy   149 


4  CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

Chap.V.  The  English.  l9.   153 

VI.  Two  Centuries   161 

VII.  Over-Production   165 

VIII.  Un working  Aristocracy   169 

IX.  Working  Aristocracy   176 

X.  Plugson  of  Undershot   182 

XI.  Labour   189 

XII.  Reward   194 

XIII.  Democracy     202 

XIV.  Sir  Jabesh  Windbag   214 

XV.  Morrison  Again   217 

BOOK  IV.— Horoscope. 

Chap.  I.  Aristocracies   231 

II.  Bribery  Committee   243 

III.  The  One  Institution   248 

IV.  Captains  of  Industry   260 

V.  Permanence   266 

VI.  The  Landed   272 

VII.  The  Gifted  0   277 

VIII.  The  Didacti*  eo     282 


PAST  AND  PRESENT. 


BOOK  I. 

PROEM. 
CHAPTER  I. 

,  MIDAS. 

The  condition  of  England,  on  which  many  pamphlets  are 
now  in  the  course  of  publication,  and  many  thoughts  unpub- 
lished are  going  on  in  every  reflective  head,  is  justly  regarded 
as  one  of  the  most  ominous,  and  withal  one  of  the  strangest, 
ever  seen  in  this  world.  England  is  full  of  wealth,  of  multi- 
farious produce,  supply  for  human  want  in  every  kind  ;  yet 
England  is  dying  of  inanition.  With  unabated  bounty  the 
land  of  England  blooms  and  grows  ;  waving  with  yellow  har- 
vests ;  thick-studded  with  workshops,  industrial  implements, 
with  fifteen  millions  of  workers,  understood  to  be  the  strong- 
est, the  cunningest  and  the  willingest  our  Earth  ever  had  ; 
these  men  are  here  ;  the  work  they  have  done,  the  fruit  they 
have  realised  is  here,  abundant,  exuberant  on  every  hand  of 
us  :  and  behold,  some  baleful  fiat  as  of  Enchantment  has  gone 
forth,  saying,  "  Touch  it  not,  ye  workers,  ye  master-workers, 
ye  master-idlers  ;  none  of  you  can  touch  it,  no  man  of  you 
shall  be  the  better  for  it ;  this  is  enchanted  fruit !  "  On  the 
poor  workers  such  fiat  falls  first,  in  its  rudest  shape  ;  but  on 
the  rich  master-workers  too  it  falls ;  neither  can  the  rich 
master-idlers,  nor  any  richest  or  highest  man  escape,  but  all  are 


6 


PROEM. 


like  to  be  brought  low  with  it,  and  made  '  poor '  enough,  in 
the  money  sense  or  a  far  fataller  one. 

Of  these  successful  skilful  workers  some  two  millions,  it  is 
now  counted,  sit  in  Workhouses,  Poor-law  Prisons  ;  or  have 
'  out-door  relief  flung  over  the  wall  to  them, — the  workhouse 
Bastille  being  filled  to  bursting,  and  the  strong  Poor-law 
broken  asunder  by  a  stronger.*  They  sit  there,  these  many 
months  now  ;  their  hope  of- deliverance  as  yet  small.  In  work- 
houses, pleasantly  so  named,  because  work  cannot  be  done  in 
them.  Twelve  hundred  thousand  workers  in  England  alone  : 
their  cunning  right-hand  lamed,  lying  idle  in  their  sorrowful 
bosom  ;  their  hopes,  outlooks,  share  of  this  fair  world,  shut  in 
by  narrow  walls.  They  sit  there,  pent  up,  as  in  a  kind  of 
horrid  enchantment  ;  glad  to  be  imprisoned  and  enchanted, 
that  they  may  not  perish  starved.  The  picturesque  Tourist, 
in  a  sunny  autumn  day,  through  this  bounteous  realm  of  Eng- 
land, describes  the  Union  Workhouse  on  his  path.  6  Passing 
'  by  the  W'orkhouse  of  St.  Ives  in  Huntingdonshire,  on  a  bright 
c  day  last  autumn,'  says  the  picturesque  Tourist,  '  I  saw  sitting 
'  on  wooden  benches,  in  front  of  their  Bastille  and  within  their 
6  ring  wall  and  its  railings,  some  half -hundred  or  more  of 
c  these  men.  Tall  robust  figures,  young  mostly  or  of  middle 
e  age  ;  of  honest  countenance,  many  of  them  thoughtful  and 
'  even  intelligent-looking  men.  They  sat  there,  near  by  one 
'  another  ;  but  in  a  kind  of  torpor,  especially  in  silence,  which 
'  was  very  striking.  In  silence  :  for,  alas,  what  word  was  to 
6  be  said  ?  An  Earth  all  lying  round,  crying,  Come  and  till 
'  me,  come  and  reap  me  ; — yet  we  here  sit  enchanted  !  In 
'  the  eyes  and  brows  of  these  men  hung  the  gloomiest  expres- 
'  sion,  not  of  anger,  but  of  grief  and  shame  and  manifold  in- 
'  articulate  distress  and  weariness  ;  they  returned  my  glance 
6  with  a  glance  that  seemed  to  say,  "Do  not  look  at  us.  We 
'  sit  enchanted  here,  we  know  not  why.  The  Sun  shines  and 
c  the  Earth  calls ;  and,  by  the  governing  Powers  and  Impo- 
c  tences  of  this  England,  we  are  forbidden  to  obey.    It  is  im- 

*  The  return  of  Paupers  for  England  and  Wales,  at  Ladyday,  1842,  is 
4 In-door  221,687,  Out-door  1,207,402,  Total  1,429,089.'— (Official  lie- 
port.) 


MIDAS. 


7 


*  possible,  they  tell  us  ! "  There  was  something  that  reminded 
6  me  of  Dante's  Hell  in  the  look  of  all  this  ;  and  I  rode  swiftly 
1  away.' 

So  many  hundred  thousands  sit  in  workhouses  :  and  other 
hundred  thousands  have  not  yet  got  even  workhouses  ;  and  in 
thrifty  Scotland  itself,  in  Glasgow  or  Edinburgh  City,  in  their 
dark  lanes,  hidden  from  all  but  the  eye  of  God,  and  of  rare 
Benevolence  the  minister  of  God,  there  are  scenes  of  woe  and 
destitution  and  desolation,  such  as,  one  may  hope,  the  Sun 
never  saw  before  in  the  most  barbarous  regions  where  men 
dwelt.  Competent  witnesses,  the  brave  and  humane  Dr. 
Alison,  who  speaks  what  he  knows,  whose  noble  Healing  Art 
in  his  charitable  hands  becomes  once  more  a  truly  sacred  one, 
report  these  things  for  us  :  these  things  are  not  of  this  year, 
or  of  last  year,  have  no  reference  to  our  present  state  of  com- 
mercial stagnation,  but  only  to  the  common  state.  Not  in 
sharp  fever-fits,  but  a  chronic  gangrene  of  this  kind  is  Scot- 
land suffering.  A  Poor-law,  any  and  every  Poor-law,  it  may 
be  observed,  is  but  a  temporary  measure  ;  an  anodyne,  not  a 
remedy  :  Rich  and  Poor,  when  once  the  naked  facts  of  their 
condition  have  come  into  collision,  cannot  long  subsist  to- 
gether on  a  mere  Poor-law.  True  enough  : — and  yet,  human 
beings  cannot  be  left  to  die  !  Scotland  too,  till  something 
better  come,  must  have  a  Poor-law,  if  Scotland  is  not  to  be  a 
byword  among  the  nations.  Oh,  what  a  waste  is  there  ;  of 
noble  and  thrice-noble  national  virtues  ;  peasant  Stoicisms, 
Heroisms  ;  valiant  manful  habits,  soul  of  a  Nation's  worth, — 
which  all  the  metal  of  Potosi  cannot  purchase  back  ;  to  which 
the  metal  of  Potosi,  and  all  you  can  buy  with  it,  is  dross  and 
dust ! 

Why  dwell  on  this  aspect  of  the  matter?  It  is  too  indis- 
putable, not  doubtful  now  to  any  one.  Descend  where  you 
will  into  the  lower  class,  in  Town  or  Country,  by  what  avenue 
you  will,  by  Factory  Inquiries,  Agricultural  Inquiries,  by 
Revenue  Returns,  by  Mining-Labourer  Committees,  by  open- 
ing your  own  eyes  and  looking,  the  same  sorrowful  result 
discloses  itself :  you  have  to  admit  that  the  working  body  of 
this  rich  English  Nation  has  sunk  or  is  fast  sinking  into  a 


s 


PROEM. 


state,  to  which,  all  sides  of  it  considered,  there  was  literally 
never  any  parallel.  At  Stockport  Assizes, — and  this  too  has 
no  reference  to  the  present  state  of  trade,  being  of  date  prior 
to  that, — a  Mother  and  a  Father  are  arraigned  and  found  guilty 
of  poisoning  three  of  their  children,  to  defraud  a  '  burial-so- 
ciety '  of  some  3/.  8s.  due  on  the  death  of  each  child  :  they 
are  arraigned,  found  guilty  ;  and  the  official  authorities,  it  is 
whispered,  hint  that  perhaps  the  case  is  not  solitary,  that 
perhaps  you  had  better  not  probe  farther  into  that  depart- 
ment of  things.  This  is  in  the  autumn  of  1841 ;  the  crime 
itself  is  of  the  previous  year  or  season.  "  Brutal  savages,  de- 
graded Irish,"  mutters  the  idle  reader  of  Newsrjapers  ;  hardly 
lingering  on  this  incident.  Yet  it  is  an  incident  worth  linger- 
ing on  ;  the  depravity,  savagery  and  degraded  Irishism  being 
never  so  well  admitted.  In  the  British  land,  a  human  Mother 
and  Father,  of  white  skin  and  professing  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, has  done  this  thing  ;  they,  with  their  Irishism  and 
necessity  and  savagery,  had  been  driven  to  do  it.  Such  in- 
stances are  like  the  highest  mountain  apex  emerged  into  view  ; 
under  which  lies  a  whole  mountain  region  and  land,  not  yet 
emerged.  A  human  Mother  and  Father  had  said  to  them- 
selves, What  shall  we  do  to  escape  starvation  ?  We  are  deep 
sunk  here,  in  our  dark  cellar  ;  and  help  is  far. — Yes,  in  the 
Ugolino  Hunger-tower  stern  things  happen  ;  best-loved  little 
Gaddo  fallen  dead  on  his  Father's  knees  ! — The  Stockport 
Mother  and  Father  think  and  hint  :  Our  poor  little  starveling 
Tom,  who  cries  all  day  for  victuals,  who  will  see  only  evil  and 
not  good  in  this  world  :  if  he  were  out  of  misery  at  once  ;  he 
well  dead,  and  the  rest  of  us  perhaps  kept  alive  ?  It  is 
thought,  and  hinted  ;  at  last  it  is  done.  And  now  Tom  being 
killed,  and  all  spent  and  eaten,  Is  it  poor  little  starveling  Jack 
that  must  go,  or  poor  little  starveling  Will  ? — What  a  commit- 
tee of  ways  and  means  ! 

In  starved  sieged  cities,  in  the  uttermost  doomed  ruin  of 
old  Jerusalem  fallen  under  the  wrath  of  God,  it  was  prophe- 
sied and  said,  '  The  hands  of  the  pitiful  women  have  sodden 
their  own  children.'  The  stern  Hebrew  imagination  could 
conceive  no  blacker  gulf  of  wretchedness  ;  that  was  the  ulti- 


MIDAS. 


9 


matum  of  degraded  god-punished  man.  And  we  here,  in 
modern  England,  exuberant  with  supply  of  all  kinds,  besieged 
by  nothing  *f  it  be  not  by  invisible  Enchantments,  are  we 

reaching  that  ?  How  come  these  things  ?    Wherefore  are 

they,  wherefore  should  they  be  ? 

Nor  are  they  of  the  St.  Ives  workhouses,  of  the  Glasgow 
lanes,  and  Stockport  cellars,  the  only  unblessed  among  us.' 
This  successful  industry  of  England,  with  its  plethoric  wealth, 
has  as  yet  made  nobody  rich  ;  it  is  an  enchanted  wealth,  and 
belongs  yet  to  nobody.  We  might  ask,  Which  of  us  has  it  en- 
riched? We  can  spend  thousands  where  we  once  spent 
hundreds  ;  but  can  purchase  nothing  good  with  them.  In 
Poor  and  Rich,  instead  of  noble  thrift  and  plenty,  there  is  idle 
luxury  alternating  with  mean  scarcity  and  inability.  We  have 
sumptuous  garnitures  for  our  Life,  but  have  forgotten  to  live 
in  the  middle  of  them.  It  is  an  enchanted  wealth  ;  no  man  of 
us  can  yet  touch  it.  The  class  of  men  who  feel  that  they  are 
truly  better  off  by  means  of  it,  let  them  give  us  their  name  ! 

Many  men  eat  finer  cookery,  drink  dearer  liquors, — with 
what  advantage  they  can  report,  and  their  Doctors  can  :  but 
in  the  heart  of  them,  if  we  go  out  of  the  dyspeptic  stomach, 
what  increase  of  blessedness  is  there  ?  Are  they  better,  beau- 
tifuller,  stronger,  braver?  Are  they  even  what  they  call 
£  happier  ?  5  Do  they  look  with  satisfaction  on  more  things 
and  human  faces  in  this  God's-Earth  ;  do  more  things  and 
human  faces  look  with  satisfaction  on  them  ?  Not  so.  Hu- 
man faces  gloom  discordantly,  disloyally  on  one  another. 
Things,  if  it  be  not  mere  cotton  and  iron  things,  are  growing 
disobedient  to  man.  The  Master  Worker  is  enchanted,  for 
the  present,  like  his  Workhouse  Workman  ;  clamours,  in  vain 
hitherto,  for  a  very  simple  sort  of  '  Liberty  : '  the  liberty  '  to 
buy  where  he  finds  it  cheapest,  to  sell  where  he  finds  it  dear- 
est.' With  guineas  jingling  in  every  pocket,  he  was  no  whit 
richer  ;  but  now,  the  very  guineas  threatening  to  vanish,  he 
feels  that  he  is  poor  indeed.  Poor  Master  Worker  !  And 
the  Master  Unworker,  is  not  he  in  a  still  fataller  situation  ? 
Pausing  amid  his  game-preserves,  with  awful  eye,— as  he  well 


10 


PROEM. 


may  !  Coercing  fifty-pound  tenants  ;  coercing,  bribing,  cajol- 
ing ;  doing  what  he  likes  with  his  own.  His  mouth  full  of 
loud  futilities,  and  arguments  to  prove  the  excellence  of  his 
Corn-law  ;  and  in  his  heart  the  blackest  misgiving,  a  desperate 
half  consciousness  that  his  excellent  Corn-law  is  indefensible, 
that  his  loud  arguments  for  it  are  of  a  kind  to  strike  men  too 
Hterally  dumb. 

To  whom,  then,  is  this  wealth  of  England  wealth  ?  "Who 
is  it  that  it  blesses ;  makes  happier,  wiser,  beautifuller,  in  any 
way  better  ?  Who  has  got  hold  of  it,  to  make  it  fetch  and 
carry  for  him,  like  a  true  servant,  not  like  a  false  mock-ser- 
vant ;  to  do  him  any  real  service  whatsoever  ?  As  yet  no  one. 
We  have  more  riches  than  any  Nation  ever  had  before  ;  we 
have  less  good  of  them  than  any  Nation  ever  had  before. 
Our  successful  industry  is  hitherto  unsuccessful ;  a  strange 
success,  if  we  stop  here  !  In  the  midst  of  plethoric  plenty, 
the  people  perish  ;  with  gold  walls,  and  full  barns,  no  man 
feels  himself  safe  or  satisfied.  Workers,  Master  Workers, 
Unworkers,  all  men,  come  to  a  pause  ;  stand  fixed,  and  cannot 
farther.  Fatal  paralysis  spreading  inwards,  from  the  extremi- 
ties, in  St.  Ives  workhouses,  in  Stockport  cellars,  through  all 
limbs,  as  if  towards  the  heart  itself.  Have  we  actually  got  en- 
chanted, then  ;  accursed  by  some  god  ? — 

Midas  longed  for  gold,  and  insulted  the  Olympians.  He 
got  gold,  so  that  whatsoever  he  touched  became  gold, — and 
he,  with  his  long  ears,  was  little  the  better  for  it.  Midas  had 
misjudged  the  celestial  music-tones  ;  Midas  had  insulted 
Apollo  and  the  gods  ;  the  gods  gave  him  his  wish,  and  a  pair 
of  long  ears,  which  also  were  a  good  appendage  to  it.  What 
a  truth  in  these  old  Fables  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SPHINX. 

How  true,  for  example,  is  that  other  old  Fable  of  the 
Sphinx,  who  sat  by  the  wayside,  propounding  her  riddle  to 
the  passengers,  which  if  they  could  not  answer  she  destroyed 


THE  SPHINX. 


11 


them  !  Such  a  Sphinx  is  this  Life  of  ours,  to  all  men  and  so- 
cieties of  men.  Nature,  like  the  Sphinx,  is  of  womanly  celes- 
tial loveliness  and  tenderness  ;  the  face  and  bosom  of  a  god- 
dess, but  ending  in  claws  and  the  body  of  a  lioness.  There 
is  in  her  a  celestial  beauty, — which  means  celestial  order, 
pliancy  to  wisdom  ;  but  there  is  also  a  darkness,  a  ferocity, 
fatality,  which  are  infernal.  She  is  a  goddess,  but  one  not 
yet  disimprisoned  ;  one  still  half -imprisoned, — the  articulate, 
lovely  still  encased  in  the  inarticulate,  chaotic.  How  true  ! 
And  does  she  not  propound  her  riddles  to  us  ?  Of  each  man 
she  asks  daily,  in  mild  voice,  yet  with  a  terrible  significance, 
"  Knowest  thou  the  meaning  of  this  Day  ?  What  thou  canst 
do  Today  ;  wisely  attempt  to  do?"  Nature,  Universe,  Des- 
tiny, Existence,  howsoever  we  name  this  grand  unnameable 
Fact  in  the  midst  of  which  wre  live  and  struggle,  is  as  a  heav- 
enly bride  and  conquest  to  the  wise  and  brave,  to  them  who 
can  discern  her  behests  and  do  them  ;  a  destroying  fiend  to 
them  who  cannot.  Answer  her  riddle,  it  is  well  with  thee. 
Answer  it  not,  pass  on  regarding  it  not,  it  will  answer  itself  ; 
the  solution  for  thee  is  a  thing  of  teeth  and  claws  ;  Nature  is 
a  dumb  lioness,  deaf  to  thy  pleadings,  fiercely  devouring. 
Thou  art  not  now  her  victorious  bridegroom  ;  thou  art  her 
mangled  victim,  scattered  on  the  precipices,  as  a  slave  found 
treacherous,  recreant,  ought  to  be  and  must. 

With  Nations  it  is  as  with  individuals  :  Can  they  rede  the 
riddle  of  Destiny  ?  This  English  Nation,  will  it  get  to  know 
the  meaning  of  its  strange  new  Today  ?  Is  there  sense  enough 
extant  discoverable  anywhere  or  anyhow,  in  our  united  twen- 
ty-seven million  heads  to  discern  the  same  ;  valour  enough  in 
our  twenty-seven  million  hearts  to  dare  and  do  the  bidding 
thereof  ?    It  will  be  seen  ! — 

The  secret  of  gold  Midas,  which  he  with  his  long  ears  never 
could  discover,  was,  That  he  had  offended  the  Supreme  Pow- 
ers ;  that  he  had  parted  company  with  the  eternal  inner  Fact 
of  this  Universe,  and  followed  the  transient  outer  Appear- 
ances thereof  ;  and  so  was  arrived  here.  Properly  it  is  the 
secret  of  all  unhappy  men  and  unhappy  nations.  Had  they 
known  Nature's  right  truth,  Nature's  right  truth  would  have 


12 


PROEM. 


made  them  free.  They  have  become  enchanted  ;  stagger 
spell-bound,  reeling  on  the  brink  of  huge  peril,  because  they 
were  not  wise  enough.  They  have  forgotten  the  right  Inner 
True,  and  taken  up  with  the  Outer  Sham-true.  They  answer 
the  Sphinx's  question  wrong.  Foolish  men  cannot  answer  it 
aright  !  Foolish  men  mistake  transitory  semblance  for  eternal 
fact,  and  go  astray  more  and  more. 

Foolish  men  imagine  that  because  judgment  for  an  evil 
thing  is  delayed,  there  is  no  justice,  but  an  accidental  one, 
here  below.  Judgment  for  an  evil  thing  is  many  times  de- 
layed some  day  or  two,  some  century  or  two,  but  it  is  sure  as 
life,  it  is  sure  as  death !  In  the  centre  of  the  world -whirlwind, 
verily  now  as  in  the  oldest  days,  dwells  and  speaks  a  God, 
The  great  soul  of  the  world  is  just.  O  brother,  can  it  be 
needful  now,  at  this  late  epoch  of  experience,  after  eighteen 
centuries  of  Christian  preaching  for  one  thing,  to  remind  thee 
of  such  a  fact ;  which  all  manner  of  Mahometans,  old  Pagan 
Romans,  Jew^s,  Scythians  and  heathen  Greeks,  and  indeed 
more  or  less  all  men  that  God  made,  have  managed  at  one 
time  to  see  into  ;  nay  which  thou  thyself,  till  'redtape  stran- 
gled the  inner  life  of  thee,  hadst  once  some  inkling  of :  That 
there  is  justice  here  below ;  and  even  at  bottom,  that  there  is 
nothing  else  but  justice  !  Forget  that,  thou  hast  forgotten 
all.  Success  will  never  more  attend  thee  :  how  can  it  now  ? 
Thou  hast  the  whole  Universe  against  thee.  No  more  suc- 
cess :  mere  sham-success,  for  a  day  and  days ;  rising  ever 
higher, — towards  its  Tarpeian  Rock.  Alas,  how,  in  thy  soft- 
hung  Longacre  vehicle,  of  polished  leather  to  the  bodily  eye, 
of  redtape  philosophy,  of  expediencies,  clubroom  moralities, 
Parliamentary  majorities  to  the  mind's  eye,  thou  beautifully 
rollest :  but  knowest  thou  whitherward  ?  It  is  towards  the 
road's  end.  Old  use-and-wont  ;  established  methods,  habi- 
tudes, once  true  and  wise  ;  man's  noblest  tendency,  his  perse- 
verance, and  man's  ignoblest,  his  inertia  ;  whatsoever  of  noble 
and  ignoble  Conservatism  there  is  in  men  and  Nations,  strong- 
est always  in  the  strongest  men  and  Nations  :  all  this  is  as  a 
road  to  thee,  paved  smooth  through  the  abyss, — till  all  this  end. 
Till  men's  bitter  necessities  can  endure  thee  no  more.  Till 


THE  SPHIN  X. 


13 


Natures  patience  with  thee  is  done  ;  and  there  is  no  road  or 
footing*  any  farther,  and  the  abyss  yawns  sheer ! — 

Parliament  and  the  Courts  of  Westminster  are  venerable  to 
me  ;  how  venerable  ;  grey  with  a  thousand  years  of  honourable 
age  !  For  a  thousand  years  and  more,  Wisdom  and  faithful 
Valour,  struggling  amid  much  Folly  and  greedy  Baseness,  not 
without  most  sad  distortions  in  the  struggle,  have  built  them  up ; 
and  they  are  as  we  see.  For  a  thousand  years,  this  English  Na- 
tion has  found  them  useful  or  supportable  ;  they  have  served 
this  English  Nation's  want ;  been  a  road  to  it  through  the  abyss 
of  Time.  They  are  venerable,  they  are  great  and  strong.  And 
yet  it  is  good  to  remember  always  that  they  are  not  the  ven- 
erablest,  nor  the  greatest,  nor  the  strongest !  Acts  of  Parlia- 
ment are  venerable  ;  but  if  they  correspond  not  with  the 
writing  on  the  'Adamant  Tablet,'  what  are  they?  Properly 
their  one  element  of  venerableness,  of  strength  or  great- 
ness, is,  that  they  at  all  times  correspond  therewith  as  near 
as  by  human  possibility  they  can.  They  are  cherishing  de- 
struction in  their  bosom  every  hour  that  they  continue  other- 
wise. 

Alas,  how  many  causes  that  can  plead  well  for  themselves 
in  the  Courts  of  Westminster  ;  and  yet  in  the  general  Court 
of  the  Universe,  and  free  Soul  of  Man,  have  no  word  to  utter ! 
Honourable  Gentlemen  may  find  this  worth  considering,  in 
times  like  ours.  And  truly,  the  din  of  triumphant  Law-logic, 
and  all  shaking  of  horse-hair  wigs  and  learned-sergeant  gowns 
having  comfortably  ended,  we  shall  do  well  to  ask  ourselves 
withal,  What  says  that  high  and  highest  Court  to  the  verdict  ? 
For  it  is  the  Court  of  Courts,  that  same  ;  where  the  universal 
soul  of  Fact  and  very  Truth  sits  President  ; — and  thitherward, 
more  and  more  swiftly,  with  a  really  terrible  increase  of  swift- 
ness, all  causes  do  in  these  days  crowd  for  revisal, — for  con- 
firmation, for  modification,  for  reversal  with  costs.  Dost  thou 
know  that  Court ;  hast  thou  had  any  Law-practice  there  ? 
What,  didst  thou  never  enter  ;  never  file  any  petition  of  re- 
dress, reclaimer,  disclaimer  or  demurrer,  written  as  in  thy 
heart's  blood,  for  thy  own  behoof  or  another's  ;  and  silently 
await  the  issue  ?    Thou  knowest  not  such  a  Court  ?  Hast 


14 


PROEM. 


merely  heard  of  it  by  faint  tradition  as  a  thing  that  was  or 
had  been  ?    Of  thee,  I  think,  we  shall  get  little  benefit. 

For  the  gowns  of  learned-sergeants  are  good  :  parchment 
records,  fixed  forms,  and  poor  terrestrial  Justice,  with  or 
without  horse-hair,  what  sane  man  will  not  reverence  these  ? 
And  yet,  behold,  the  man  is  not  sane  but  insane,  who  con- 
siders these  alone  as  venerable.  Oceans  of  horse-hair,  conti- 
nents of  parchment,  and  learned-sergeant  eloquence,  were  it 
continued  till  the  learned  tongue  wore  itself  small  in  the  in- 
defatigable learned  mouth,  cannot  make  unjust  just.  The 
grand  question  still  remains,  "Was  the  judgment  just  ?  If  un- 
just, it  will  not  and  cannot  get  harbour  for  itself,  or  continue 
to  have  footing  in  this  Universe,  which  was  made  by  other 
than  One  Unjust.  Enforce  it  by  never  such  statu  ting,  three 
readings,  royal  assents  ;  blow  it  to  the  four  winds  with  all 
manner  of  quilted  trumpeters  and  pursuivants,  in  the  rear  of 
them  never  so  many  gibbets  and  hangmen,  it  will  not  stand, 
it  cannot  stand.  From  all  souls  of  men,  from  all  ends  of 
Nature,  from  the  Throne  of  God  above,  there  are  voices  bid- 
ding it :  Away,  away  !  Does  it  take  no  warning  ;  does  it  stand, 
strong  in  its  three  readings,  in  its  gibbets  and  artillery -parks? 
The  more  woe  is  to  it,  the  frightfuller  woe.  It  will  continue 
standing,  for  its  day,  for  its  year,  for  its  century,  doing  evil  all 
the  while  ;  but  it  has  One  enemy  who  is  Almighty  :  dissolu- 
tion, explosion,  and  the  everlasting  Laws  of  Nature  incessantly 
advance  towards  it ;  and  the  deeper  its  rooting,  more  obstinate 
its  continuing,  the  deeper  also  and  huger  will  its  ruin  and 
overturn  be. 

In  this  God's-world,  with  its  wild-whirling  eddies  and  mad 
foam-oceans,  wThere  men  and  nations  perish  as  if  without  law, 
and  judgment  for  an  unjust  thing  is  sternly  delayed,  dost 
thou  think  that  there  is  therefore  no  justice  ?  It  is  what  the 
fool  hath  said  in  his  heart.  It  is  what  the  wise,  in  all  times, 
were  wise  because  they  denied,  and  knew  forever  not  to  be. 
I  tell  thee  again,  there  is  nothing  else  but  justice.  One  strong 
thing  I  find  here  below  :  the  just  thing,  the  true  thing.  My 
riend,  if  thou  hadst  all  the  artillery  of  Woolwich  trundling  at 
thy  back  in  support  of  an  unjust  thing  ;  and  infinite  bonfires 


THE  HjfHINX. 


15 


visibly  waiting  ahead  of  thee,  to  blaze  centuries  long  for  thy 
victory 'on  behalf  of  it, — I  would  advise  thee  to  call  halt,  to 
fling  down  thy  baton,  and  say,  "In  God's  name,  No  ! "  Thy 
'  success  ? '  Poor  devil,  what  will  thy  success  amount  to  ?  If 
the  thing  is  unjust,  thou  hast  not  succeeded  ;  no,  not  though 
bonfires  blazed  from  North  to  South,  and  bells  rang,  and 
editors  wrote  leading-articles,  and  the  just  thing  lay  trampled 
out  of  sight,  to  all  mortal  eyes  an  abolished  and  annihilated 
thing.  Success  ?  In  few  years  thou  wilt  be  dead  and  dark,  — 
all  cold,  eyeless,  deaf  ;  no  blaze  of  bonfires,  ding-dong  of  bells 
or  leading-articles  visible  or  audible  to  thee  again  at  all  for- 
ever :  "What  kind  of  success  is  that ! — 

It  is  true,  all  goes  by  approximation  in  this  world  ;  with 
any  not  insupportable  approximation  we  must  be  patient. 
There  is  a  noble  Conservatism  as  well  as  an  ignoble.  Would 
to  Heaven,  for  the  sake  of  Conservatism  itself,  the  noble  alone 
wrere  left,  and  the  ignoble,  by  some  kind  severe  hand,  were 
ruthlessly  lopped  .away,  forbidden  ever  more  to  shew  itself  ! 
For  it  is  the  right  and  noble  alone  that  will  have  victory  in 
this  struggle  ;  the  rest  is  wholly  an  obstruction,  a  postpone- 
ment and  fearful  imperilment  of  the  victory.  Towards  an 
eternal  centre  of  right  and  nobleness,  and  of  that  only,  is  all 
this  confusion  tending.  We  already  know  whither  it  is  all 
tending  ;  what  will  have  victory,  what  will  have  none  !  The 
Heaviest  will  reach  the  centre.  The  Heaviest,  sinking  through 
complex  fluctuating  media  and  vortices,  has  its  deflexions,  its 
obstructions,  nay  at  times  its  resiliences,  its  reboun dings  ; 
whereupon  some  blockhead  shall  be  heard  jubilating,  "  See, 
your  Heaviest  ascends  !  " — but  at  all  moments  it  is  moving 
centreward,  fast  as  is  convenient  for  it ;  sinking,  sinking  ;  and, 
by  laws  older  than  the  World,  old  as  the  Maker's  first  Plan  of 
the  World,  it  has  to  arrive  there. 

Await  the  issue.  In  all  battles,  if  you  await  the  issue,  each 
fighter  has  prospered  according  to  his  right.  His  right  and 
his  might,  at  the  close  of  the  account,  were  one  and  the  same. 
He  has  fought  with  all  his  might,  and  in  exact  proportion  to  all 
his  right  he  has  prevailed.    His  very  death  is  no  victory  over 


16 


PROEM. 


him.  He  dies  indeed  ;  but  his  work  lives,  very  truly  lives. 
A  heroic  Wallace,  quartered  on  the  scaffold,  cannot  hinder 
that  his  Scotland  become,  one  day,  a  part  of  England  :  but  he 
does  hinder  that  it  become,  on  tyrannous  unfair  terms,  a  part 
of  it ;  commands  still,  as  with  a  gods  voice,  from  his  old  Val- 
halla and  Temple  of  the  Brave,  that  there  be  a  just  real  union 
as  of  brother  and  brother,  not  a  false  and  merely  semblant  one 
as  of  slave  and  master.  If  the  union  with  England  be  in  fact 
one  of  Scotland's  chief  blessings,  we  thank  Wallace  withal  that 
it  was  not  the  chief  curse.  Scotland  is  not  Ireland  :  no,  be- 
cause brave  men  rose  there,  and  said,  "  Behold,  ye  must  not 
tread  us  down  like  slaves  ;  and  ye  shall  not, — find  cannot !  " 
Fight  on,  thou  brave  true  heart,  and  falter  not,  through  dark 
fortune  and  through  bright.  The  cause  thou  tightest  for,  so 
far  as  it  is  true,  no  farther,  yet  precisely  so  far,  is  very  sure  of 
victory.  The  falsehood  alone  of  it  will  be  conquered,  will  be 
abolished,  as  it  ought  to  be  :  but  the  truth  of  it  is  part  of  Na- 
ture's own  Laws,  cooperates  with  the  World's  eternal  Tenden- 
cies, and  cannot  be  conquered. 

The  dust  of  controversy,  what  is  it  but  the  falsehood  flying 
off  from  all  manner  of  conflicting  true  forces,  and  making  such 
a  loud  dust- whirlwind, — that  so  the  truths  alone  may  remain, 
and  embrace  brother-like  in  some  true  resulting-force  !  It  is 
ever  so.  Savage  fighting  Heptarchies  :  their  fighting  is  an 
ascertainment,  who  has  the  right  to  rule  over  whom  ;  that 
out  of  such  waste -bickering  Saxondom  a  peacefully  cooperating 
England  may  arise.  Seek  through  this  Universe  ;  if  with 
oLher  than  owl's  eyes,  thou  wilt  find  nothing  nourished  there, 
nothing  kept  in  life,  but  what  has  right  to  nourishment  and 
life.  The  rest,  look  at  it  with  other  than  owl's  eyes,  is  not  liv- 
ing ;  is  all  dying,  all  as  good  as  dead  !  Justice  was  ordained 
from  the  foundations  of  the  world  ;  and  will  last  with  the 
world  and  longer. 

From  which  I  infer  that  the  inner  sphere  of  Fact,  in  this 
present  England  as  elsewhere,  differs  infinitely  from  the  outer 
sphere  and  spheres  of  Semblance.  That  the  Temporary,  here 
as  elsewhere,  is  too  apt  to  carry  it  over  the  Eternal.    That  he 


THE  SPHINX. 


17 


who  dwells  in  the  temporary  Semblances,  and  does  not  pene- 
trate into  the  eternal  Substance,  will  not  answer  the  Sphinx-rid- 
dle of  To  day,  or  of  any  Day.  For  the  substance  alone  is  sub- 
stantial ;  that  is  the  law  of  Fact ;  if  you  discover  not  that,  Fact, 
who  already  knows  it,  will  let  you  also  know  it  by  and  by  ! 

What  is  Justice  ?  that,  on  the  whole,  is  the  question  of  the 
Sphinx  to  us.  The  law  of  Fact  is,  that  Justice  must  and  will 
be  done.  The  sooner  the  better ;  for  the  Time  grows  strin- 
gent, frightfully  pressing  !  "  What  is  Justice  ?  "  ask  many,  to 
whom  cruel  Fact  alone  will  be  able  to  prove  responsive.  It 
is  like  jesting  Pilate  asking,  What  is  Truth  ?  Jesting  Pilate 
had  not  the  smallest  chance  to  ascertain  what  was  Truth.  He 
could  not  have  known  it,  had  a  god  shewn  it  to  him.  Thick 
serene  opacity,  thicker  than  amaurosis,  veiled  those  smiling 
eyes  of  his  to  Truth  ;  the  inner  retina  of  them  was  gone 
paralytic,  dead.  He  looked  at  Truth  ;  and  discerned  her  not, 
there  where  she  stood.  "  What  is  Justice  ?  "  The  ciotlied 
embodied  Justice  that  sits  in  Westminster  Hall,  with  penalties, 
parchments,  tipstaves,  is  very  visible.  But  the  imembodied 
Justice,  whereof  that  other  is  either  an  emblem,  or  else  is  a 
fearful  indescribability,  is  not  so  visible  !  For  the  unembodied 
Justice  is  of  Heaven  ;  a  Spirit,  and  Divinity  of  Heaven, — in- 
visible to  all  but  the  noble  and  pure  of  soul.  The  impure 
ignoble  gaze  with  eyes,  and  she  is  not  there  They  will  prove 
it  to  you  by  logic,  by  endless  Hansard  Debatings,  by  bursts 
of  Parliamentary  eloquence.  It  is  not  consolatory  to  behold  ! 
For  properly,  as  many  men  as  there  are  in  a  Nation  who  can 
withal  see  Heaven's  invisible  Justice,  and  know  it  to  be  on 
Earth  also  omnipotent,  so  many  men  are  there  who  stand  be- 
tween a  Nation  and  perdition.  So  many,  and  no  more. 
Heavy-laden  England,  how  many  hast  thou  in  this  hour?  The 
Supreme  Power  sends  new  and  ever  new,  all  born  at  least  with 
hearts  of  flesh  and  not  of  stone  ; — and  heavy  Misery  itself 3 
once  heavy  enough,  will  prove  didactic  ! — 
% 


18 


PROEM. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION. 

Blusterowski,  Colacorde,  and  other  Editorial  prophets  of 
the  Continental  Democratic  Movement,  have  in  their  leading- 
articles  shewn  themselves  disposed  to  vilipend  the  late  Man- 
chester Insurrection,  as  evincing  in  the  rioters  an  extreme 
backwardness  to  battle  ;  nay  as  betokening,  in  the  English 
People  itself,  perhaps  a  want  of  the  proper  animal- courage  in- 
dispensable in  these  ages.  A  million  hungry  operative  men 
started  up,  in  utmost  paroxysm  of  desperate  protest  against 
their  lot  ;  and,  ask  Colacorde  and  company,  How  many  shots 
were  fired  ?  Very  few  in  comparison  !  Certain  hundreds  of 
drilled  soldiers  sufficed  to  suppress  this  million-headed  hydra, 
and  tread  it  down,  without  the  smallest  appeasement  or  hope  of 
such,  into  its  subterranean  settlements  again,  there  to  recon- 
sider itself.  Compared,  with  our  revolts  in  Lyons,  in  Warsaw 
and  elsewhere,  to  say  nothing  of  incomparable  Paris  City  past 
or  present,  what  a  lamblike  Insurrection  ! — 

The  present  Editor  is  not  here,  with  his  readers,  to  vindicate 
the  character  of  Insurrections ;  nor  does  it  matter  to  us 
whether  Blusterowski  and  the  rest  may  think  the  English  a 
courageous  people  or  not  courageous.  In  passing,  however, 
let  us  mention  that,  to  our  view,  this  was  not  an  unsuccessful 
Insurrection  ;  that  as  Insurrections  go,  we  have  not  heard 
lately  of  any  that  succeeded  so  well. 

A  million  of  hungry  operative  men,  as  Blusterowski  says, 
rose  all  up,  came  all  out  into  the  streets,  and — stood  there. 
"What  other  could  they  do  ?  Their  wrongs  and  griefs  were 
bitter,  insupportable,  their  rage  against  the  same  was  just  : 
but  who  are  they  that  cause  these  wrongs,  who  that  will  hon- 
estly make  effort  to  redress  them  ?  Our  enemies  are  we  know 
not  who  or  what ;  our  friends  are  we  know  not  where  !  How 
shall  we  attack  any  one,  shoot  or  be  shot  by  any  one  ?  Oh,  if 
the  accursed  invisible  Nightmare,  that  is  crushing  out  the 
life  of  us  and  ours,  would  take  a  shape  ;  approach  us  like  the 


MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION. 


18 


Hyrcanian  tiger,  the  Behemoth  of  Chaos,  the  Archfiend  him- 
self ;  in  any  shape  that  we  could  see,  and  fasten  on  ! — A  man 
can  have  himself  shot  with  cheerfulness  ;  but  it  needs  first 
that  he  see  clearly  for  what.  Shew  him  the  divine  face  of 
Justice,  then  the  diabolic  monster  which  is  eclipsing  that :  he 
will  fly  at  the  throat  of  such  monster,  never  so  monstrous,  and 
need  no  bidding  to  do  it.  Woolwich  grapeshot  will  sweep 
clear  all  streets,  blast  into  invisibility  so  many  thousand  men  : 
but  if  your  Woolwich  grapeshot  be  but  eclipsing  Divine  Jus- 
tice, and  the  God's-radiance  itself  gleam  recognisable  athwart 
such  grapeshot, — then,  yes  then  is  the  time  come  for  fighting 
and  attacking.  All  artillery-parks  have  become  weak,  and  are 
about  to  dissipate  :  in  the  God's-thunder,  their  poor  thunder 
slackens,  ceases ;  finding  that  it  is,  in  all  senses  of  the  term,  a 
brute  one ! — 

That  the  Manchester  Insurrection  stood  still,  on  the  streets, 
with  an  indisposition  to  fire  and  bloodshed,  was  wisdom  for  it 
even  as  an  Insurrection.  Insurrection,  never  so  necessary,  is  a 
most  sad  necessity  ;  and  governors  who  wait  for  that  to  instruct 
them,  are  surely  getting  into  the  fatallest  courses,  —  proving 
themselves  Sons  of  Nox  and  Chaos,  of  blind  Cowardice,  not 
of  seeing  Valour  !  How  can  there  be  any  remedy  in  insurrec- 
tion? It  is  a  mere  announcement  of  the  disease, — visible 
now  even  to  Sons  of  Night.  Insurrection  usually  '  gains ' 
little  ;  usually  wastesxhow  much  !  One  of  its  worst  kinds  of 
waste,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rest,  is  that  of  irritating  and  ex- 
asperating men  against  ,each  other,  by  violence  done  ;  which 
is  always  sure  to  be  injustice  done,  for  violence  does  even 
justice  unjustly. 

Who  shall  compute  the  waste  and  loss,  the  obstruction  of 
every  sort,  that  was  produced  in  the  Manchester  region  by  Pe- 
terloo  alone  !  Some  thirteen  unarmed  men  and  women  cut 
down, — the  number  of  the  slain  and  maimed  is  very  count- 
able :  but  the  treasury  of  rage,  burning  hidden  or  visible  in 
all  hearts  ever  since,  more  or  less  perverting  the  effort  and 
aim  of  all  hearts  ever  since,  is  of  unknown  extent.  "  How  ye 
came  among  us,  in  your  cruel  armed  blindness,  ye  unspeak- 
able County  Yeomanry,  sabres  flourishing,  hoofs  prancing, 


20 


PROEM, 


and  slashed  us  down  at  your  brute  pleasure  ;  deaf,  blind  to  all 
our  claims  and  woes  and  wrongs  ;  of  quick  sight  and  sense 
to  your  own  claims  only  !  There  lie  poor  sallow  workworn 
weavers,  and  complain  no  more  now  ;  women  themselves  are 
slashed  and  sabred,  howling  terror  fills  the  air  ;  and  ye  ride 
prosperous,  very  victorious, — ye  unspeakable  :  give  us  sabres 
too,  and  then  come-on  a  little  !  "  Such  are  Peterloos.  In  all 
hearts  that  witnessed  Peterloo,  stands  written,  as  in  fire-char- 
acters, or  smoke-characters  prompt  to  become  fire  again,  a 
legible  balance-account  of  grim  vengeance  :  very  unjustly  bal- 
anced, much  exaggerated,  as  is  the  way  with  such  accounts  : 
but  payable  readily  at  sight,  in  full  with  compound  interest ! 
Such  things  should  be  avoided  as  the  very  pestilence  ! 
For  men's  hearts  ought  not  be  set  against  one  another  ;  but 
set  with  one  another,  and  all  against  the  Evil  Thing  only. 
Men's  souls  ought  to  be  left  to  see  clearly  ;  not  jaundiced, 
blinded,  twisted  all  awry,  by  revenge,  mutual  abhorrence, 
and  the  like.  An  Insurrection  that  can  announce  the  disease, 
and  then  retire  with  no  such  balance-account  opened  any- 
where, has  attained  the  highest  success  possible  for  it. 

And  this  was  what  these  poor  Manchester  operatives,  with 
all  the  darkness  that  was  in  them  and  round  them,  did  man- 
age to  perform.  They  put  their  huge  inarticulate  question, 
"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  us?  "  in  a  manner  audible  to 
every  reflective  soul  in  this  kingdom  ;  exciting  deep  pity  in 
all  good  men,  deep  anxiety  in  all  men  whatever ;  and  no  con- 
flagration or  outburst  of  madness  came  to  cloud  that  feeling 
anywhere,  but  everywhere  it  operates  unclouded.  All  Eng- 
land heard  the  question  :  it  is  the  first  practical  form  of  our 
Sphinx-riddle.  England  will  answer  it ;  or,  on  the  whole, 
England  will  perish  ; — one  does  not  yet  expect  the  latter  re- 
sult ! 

For  the  rest,  that  the  Manchester  Insurrection  could  yet 
discern  no  radiance  of  Heaven  on  any  side  of  its  horizon  ;  -but 
feared  that  all  lights,  of  the  O'Connor  or  other  sorts,  hitherto 
kindled,  were  but  deceptive  fish-oil  transjoarencies,  or  bog 
will-o'-wisp  lights,  and  no  dayspring  from  on  high  :  for  this 
also  we  will  honour  the  poor  Manchester  Insurrection,  and 


MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION. 


21 


augur  well  of  it.  A  deep  unspoken  sense  lies  in  these  strong 
men,— inconsiderable  almost  stupid,  as  all  they  can  articulate 
of  it  is.  Amid  all  violent  stupidity  of  speech,  a  right  nob]e 
instinct  of  what  is  doable  and  what  is  not  doable  never  for- 
sakes them :  the  strong  inarticulate  men  and  workers,  whom 
Fact  patronises  ;  of  whom,  in  all  difficulty  and  work  whatso- 
ever, there  is  good  augury !  This  work  too  is  to  be  done  : 
Governors  and  Governing  Classes  that  can  articulate  and  ut- 
ter, in  any  measure,  what  the  law  of  Fact  and  Justice  is,  may 
calculate  that  here  is  a  Governed  Class  who  will  listen. 

And  truly  this  first  practical  form  of  the  Sphinx-question, 
inarticulately  and  so  audibly  put  there,  is  one  of  the  most 
impressive  ever  asked  in  the  world.  "Behold  us  here,  so 
many  thousands,  millions,  and  increasing  at  the  rate  of  fifty 
every  hour.  We  are  right  willing  and  able  to  work ;  and  on 
the  Planet  Earth  is  plenty  of  work  and  wages  for  a  million 
times  as  many.  We  ask,  If  you  mean  to  lead  us  towards 
work ;  to  try  to  lead  us, — by  ways  new,  never  yet  heard  of 
till  this  new  unheard-of  Time  ?  Or  if  you  declare  that  you 
cannot  lead  us  ?  And  expect  that  we  are  to  remain  quietly 
unled,  and  in  a  composed  manner  perish  of  starvation  ?  What 
is  it  you  expect  of  us?  What  is  it  you  mean  to  do  with  us?" 
This  question,  I  say,  has  been  put  in  the  hearing  of  all  Brit- 
ain ;  and  will  be  again  put,  and  ever  again,  till  some  answer 
be  given  it. 

Unhappy  Workers,  unhappy  Idlers,  unhappy  men  and 
women  of  this  actual  England  !  We  are  yet  very  far  from  an 
answer,  and  there  will  be  no  existence  for  us  without  finding 
one.  "  A  fair  day's- wages  for  a  fair  day's-work  :  "  it  is  as  just 
a  demand  as  Governed  men  ever  made  of  Governing.  It  is 
the  everlasting  right  of  man.  Indisputable  as  Gospels,  as 
arithmetical  multiplication-tables :  it  must  and  will  have  itself 
fulfilled  ; — and  yet,  in  these  times  of  ours,  with  what  enormous 
difficulty,  next-door  to  impossibility!  For  the  times  are 
really  strange  ;  of  a  complexity  intricate  with  all  the  new 
width  of  the  ever-widening  world  ;  times  here  of  half-frantic 
velocity  of  impetus,  there  of  the  deadest-looking  stillness  and 
paralysis  ;  times  definable  as  shewing  two  qualities,  Dilettant- 


22 


PROEM. 


ism  and  Mammonism  ; — most  intricate  obstructed  times! 
Nay,  if  there  were  not  a  Heaven's  radiance  of  Justice,  pro- 
phetic, clearly  of  Heaven,  discernible  behind  all  these  con- 
fused world-wide  entanglements,  of  Landlord  interests,  Manu- 
facturing interests,  Tory-Whig  interests,  and  who  knows  what 
other  interests,  expediences,  vested  interests,  established  pos- 
sessions, inveterate  Dilettantisms,  Midas-eared  Mammonisms, 
— it  would  seem  to  every  one  a  flat  impossibility,  which 
all  wise  men  might  as  well  at  once  abandon.  If  you  do 
not  know  eternal  Justice  from  momentary  Expediency,  and 
understand  in  your  heart  of  hearts  how  Justice,  radiant, 
beneficient,  as  the  all-victorious  Light-element,  is  also  in 
essence,  if  need  be,  an  all-victorious  Fire-element,  and  melts 
all  manner  of  vested  interests,  and  the  hardest  iron  cannon, 
as  if  they  were  soft  w^ax,  and  does  ever  in  the  long-run  rule 
and  reign,  and  allows  nothing  else  to  rule  and  reign, — you 
also  would  talk  of  impossibility  !  But  it  is  only  difficult,  it 
is  not  impossible.  Possible  ?  It  is,  with  whatever  difficulty, 
very  clearly  inevitable. 

Fair  day's-wages  for  fair  day5s-work  !  exclaims  a  sarcastic 
man  :  Alas,  in  what  corner  of  this  Planet,  since  Adam  first 
awoke  on  it,  was  -that  ever  realised  ?  The  day's-wages  of  John 
Milton's  day's-work,  named  Paradise  Lost  and  Milton  s  Works, 
wrere  Ten  Pounds  paid  by  instalments,  and  a  rather  close 
escape  from  death  on  the  gallows.  Consider  that :  it  is  no 
rhetorical  flourish  ;  it  is  an  authentic,  altogether  quiet  fact, — 
emblematic,  quietly  documentary  of  a  whole  world  of  such, 
ever  since  human  history  began.  Oliver  Cromwell  quitted 
his  farming ;  undertook  a  Hercules'  Labour  and  lifelong 
wrestle  wTith  that  Lernean  Hydra-coil,  wide  as  England,  hiss- 
ing heaven-high  through  its  thousand  crowned,  coroneted, 
shovel-hatted,  quack-heads ;  and  he  did  wrestle  with  it,  the 
truest  and  terriblest  wrestle  I  have  heard  of  ;  and  he  wrestled 
it,  and  mowed  and  cut  it  down  a  good  many  stages,  so  that 
its  hissing  is  ever  since  pitiful  in  comparison,  and  one  can 
walk  abroad  in  comparative  peace  from  it ; — and  his  wages, 
as  I  understand,  were  burial  under  the  gallows-tree  near 


MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION. 


23 


Tyburn  Turnpike,  with  his  head  on  the  gable  of  Westminster 
Hall,  and  two  centuries  now  of  mixed  cursing  and  ridicule 
from  all  manner  of  men.  His  dust  lies  under  the  Edgeware 
Koad,  near  Tyburn  Turnpike,  at  this  hour ;  and  his  memory 
is — Nay,  what  matters  what  his  memory  is  ?  His  memory,  at 
bottom,  is  or  yet  shall  be  as  that  of  a  god,  a  terror  and  horror 
to  all  quacks  and  cowards  and  insincere  persons ;  an  everlast- 
ing encouragement,  new  memento,  battle  word,  and  pledge  of 
victory  to  all  the  brave.  It  is  the  natural  course  and  history 
of  the  Godlike,  in  every  place,  in  every  time.  What  god  ever 
carried  it  with  the  Tenpound  Franchisers  ;  in  Open  Vestry, 
or  with  any  Sanhedrim  of  considerable  standing  ?  When  was 
a  god  found  *  agreeable  '  to  everybody  ?  The  regular  way  is 
to  hang,  kill,  crucify  your  gods,  and  execrate  and  trample 
them  under  your  stupid  hoofs  for  a  century  or  two  ;  till  you 
discover  that  they  are  gods, — and  then  take  to  braying  over 
them,  still  in  a  very  long-eared  manner  ! — So  speaks  the  sar- 
castic man  ;  in  his  wild  way,  very  mournful  truths. 

Day's- wages  for  day's-work  ?  continues  he  :  The  Progress 
of  Human  Society  consists  even  in  this  same,  The  better  and 
better  apportioning  of  wages  to  work.  Give  me  this,  you 
have  given  me  all.  Pay  to  every  man  accurately  what  he  has 
worked  for,  what  he  has  earned  and  done .  and  deserved, — to 
this  man  broad  lands  and  honours,  to  that  man  high  gibbets 
and  treadmills  :  what  more  have  I  to  ask  ?  Heaven's  King- 
dom, which  we  daily  pray  for,  has  come  ;  God's  will  is  done 
on  Earth  even  as  it  is  in  Heaven  !  This  is  the  radiance  of 
celestial  J ustice  ;  in  the  light  or  in  the  fire  of  which  all  im- 
pediments, vested  interests,  and  iron  cannon,  are  more  and 
more  melting  like  wax,  and  disappearing  from  the  pathways 
of  men.  A  thing  ever  struggling  forward  ;  irrepressible,  ad- 
vancing inevitable  ;  perfecting  itself,  all  days,  more  and  more, 
— never  to  be  perfect  till  that  general  Doomsday,  the  ultimate 
Consummation,  and  Last  of  earthly  Days. 

True,  as  to  'perfection'  and  so  forth,  answer  we;  true 
enough  !  And  yet  withal  we  have  to  remark,  that  imperfect 
Human  Society  holds  itself  together,  and  finds  place  under 
the  Sun,  in  virtue  simply  of  some  approximation  to  perfection 


24 


PROEM. 


being  actually  made  and  put  in  practice.  We  remark  farther, 
that  there  are  supportable  approximations,  and  then  likewise 
insupportable.  With  some,  almost  with  any,  supportable  ap- 
proximation men  are  apt,  perhaps  too  apt,  to  rest  indolently 
patient,  and  say,  It  will  do.  Thus  these  poor  Manchester 
manual  workers  mean  only,  by  day's-wages  for  day's- work, 
certain  coins  of  money  adequate  to  keep  them  living  ; — in  re- 
turn for  their  work,  such  modicum  of  food,  clothes  and  fuel 
as  will  enable  them  to  continue  their  work  itself  !  They  as 
yet  clamour  for  no  more  ;  the  rest,  still  inarticulate,  cannot 
shape  itself  into  a  demand  at  all,  and  only  lies  in  them  as  a 
dumb  wish  :  perhaps  only,  still  more  inarticulate,  as  a  dumb, 
altogether  unconscious  want.  This  is  the  supportable  approx- 
imation they  would  rest  patient  with,  That  by  their  w7ork 
they  might  be  kept  alive  to  work  more! — This  once  grown 
unattainable,  I  think  your  approximation  may  consider  itself 
to  have  reached  the  insupportable  stage ;  and  may  prepare, 
with  whatever  difficulty,  reluctance  and  astonishment,  for  one 
of  two  things,  for  changing  or  perishing  !  With  the  millions 
no  longer  able  to  live,  how  can  the  units  keep  living?  It  is 
too  clear  the  Nation  itself  is  on  the  way  to  suicidal  death. 

Shall  we  say  then,  The  world  has  retrograded  in  its  talent 
of  apportioning  wrages  to  work,  in  late  days  ?  The  world  had 
always  a  talent  of  that  sort,  better  or  worse.  Time  was  when 
the  mere  handworker  needed  not  announce  his  claim  to  the 
world  by  Manchester  Insurrections ! — The  world,  wTith  its 
Wealth  of  Nations,  Supply-and-demand  and  such  like,  has  of 
late  days  been  terribly  inattentive  to  that  question  of  work 
and  wages.  We  will  not  say,  the  poor  world  has  retrograded 
even  here  :  we  will  say  rather,  the  world  has  been  rushing  on 
with  such  fiery  animation  to  get  work  and  ever  more  work 
done,  it  has  had  no  time  to  think  of  dividing  the  wages ;  and 
has  merely  left  them  to  be  scrambled  for  by  the  Law  of  the 
Stronger,  law  of  Supply-and-demand,  law  of  Laissez-faire,  and 
other  idle  Laws  and  Un-laws, — saying,  in  its  dire  haste  to 
get  the  work  done,  That  is  well  enough ! 

And  now,  the  world  will  have  to  pause  a  little,  and  take  up 
that  other  side  of  the  problem,  and  in  right  earnest  strive  for 


MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION. 


25 


some  solution  of  that.  For  it  has  become  pressing.  What  is 
the  use  of  your  spun  shirts  ?  They  hang  there  by  the  million 
unsaleable  ;  and  here,  by  the  million,  are  diligent  bare  backs 
that  can  get  no  hold  of  them.  Shirts  are  useful  for  covering 
human  backs ;  useless  otherwise,  an  unbearable  mockery 
otherwise.  You  have  fallen  terribly  behind  with  that  side  of 
the  problem  !  Manchester  Insurrections,  French  Kevolutions, 
and  thousandfold  phenomena  great  and  small,  ,  announce 
loudly  that  you  must  bring  it  forward  a  little  again.  Never 
till  now,  in  the  history  of  an  Earth  which  to  this  hour  no- 
where refuses  to  grow  corn  if  you  will  plough  it,  to  yield 
shirts  if  you  will  spin  and  weave  in  it,  did  the  mere  manual 
two-handed  worker  (however  it  might  fare  with  other  work- 
ers) cry  in  vain  for  such  cwTages'  as  he  means  by  cfair 
wages,'  namely,  food  and  warmth!  The  Godlike  could  not 
and  cannot  be  paid  ;  but  the  Earthly  always  could.  Gurth, 
a  mere  swineherd,  born  thrall  of  Cedric  the  Saxon,  tended 
pigs  in  the  wood,  and  did  get  some  parings  of  the  pork. 
"Why,  the  four-footed  worker  has  already  got  all  that  this 
two-handed  one  is  clamouring  for  !  How  often  must  I  remind 
you  ?  There  is  not  a  horse  in  England,  able  and  willing  to 
work,  but  has  clue  food  and  lodging  ;  and  goes  about  sleek- 
coated,  satisfied  in  heart.  And  you  say,  It  is  impossible. 
Brothers,  I  answer,  if  for  you  it  be  impossible,  what  is  to 
become  of  you  ?  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  believe  it  to  be 
impossible.  The  human  brain,  looking  at  these  sleek  Eng- 
lish horses.,  refuses  to  believe  in  such  impossibility  for 
English  men.  Do  you  depart  quickly  ;  clear  the  ways  soon, 
lest  worse  befal.  We  for  our  share  do  purpose,  with  full 
view  of  the  enormous  difficulty,  with  total  disbelief  in  the  im- 
possibility, to  endeavour  while  life  is  in  us,  and  to  die  en- 
deavouring, we  and  our  sons,  till  we  attain  it  or  have  all  died 
and  ended. 

Such  a  Platitude  of  a  World,  in  which  all  working  horses 
could  be  well  fed,  and  innumerable  working  men  should  die 
starved,  were  it  not  best  to  end  it ;  to  have  done  with  it,  and 
restore  it  once  for  all  to  the  Jotuns,  Mud-giants,  Frost- 
giants,  and  Chaotic  Brute-gods  of  the  Beginning  ?    For  the 


26 


PROEM. 


old  Anarchic. Brute-gods  it  may  be  well  enough  ;  but  it  is  a 
Platitude  which  Men  should  be  above  countenancing  by  their 
presence  in  it.  We  pray  you,  let  the  word  impossible  disap- 
pear from  your  vocabulary  in  this  matter.  It  is  of  awful 
omen  ;  to  all  of  us,  and  to  yourselves  first  of  all. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Morrison's  pill. 

What  is  to  be  done,  what  would  you  have  us  do?  asks 
many  a  one,  with  a  tone  of  impatience,  almost  of  reproach  ; 
and  then,  if  you  mention  some  one  thing,  some  two  things, 
twenty  things  that  might  be  done,  turns  round  with  a  satirical 
tehee,  and,  "These  are  your  remedies!"  The  state  of  mind 
indicated  by  such  question,  and  such  rejoinder,  is  worth  re- 
flecting on. 

It  seems  to  be  taken  for  granted,  by  these  interrogative  phi- 
losophers, that  there  is  some  'thing,'  or  handful  of  'things/ 
which  could  be  done  ;  some  Act  of  Parliament,  6  remedial 
measure  '  or  the  like,  which  could  be  passed,  whereby  the 
social  malady  were  fairly  fronted,  conquered,  put  an  end  to  ; 
so  that,  with  your  remedial  measure  in  your  pocket,  you  could 
then  go  on  triumphant,  and  he  troubled  no  farther.  "  You 
tell  us  the  evil,"  cry  such  persons,  as  if  justly  aggrieved,  "  and 
do  not  tell  us  how  it  is  to  be  cured  !  " 

How  it  is  to  be  cured  ?  Brothers,  I  am  sorry  I  have  -got  no 
Morrison's  Pill  for  curing  the  maladies  of  Society.  It  were 
infinitely  handier  if  we  had  a  Morrison's  Pill,  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, or  remedial  measure,  which  men  could  swallow,  one 
good  time,  and  then  go  on  in  their  old  courses,  cleared  from 
all  miseries  and  mischiefs  !  Unluckily  we  have  none  such ; 
unluckily  the  Heavens  themselves,  in  their  rich  pharma- 
copoeia, contain  none  such.  There  will  no  'thing'  be  done 
that  will  cure  you.  There  will  a  radical  universal  alteration 
of  your  regimen  and  way  of  life  take  place  ;  there  will  a 
most  agonizing  divorce  between  you  and  your  chimeras, 
luxuries  and  falsities,  take  place  ;  a  most  toilsome,  all-but 


MORRISON '8  PILL. 


27 


'impossible*  return  to  Nature,  and  her  veracities  and  her  in- 
tegrities, take  place  :  that  so  the  inner  fountains  of  life  may 
again  begin,  like  eternal  Light-fountains,  to  irradiate  and 
23urify  your  bloated,  swollen  foul  existence,  drawing  nigh,  as 
at  present,  to  nameless  death !  Either  death  or  else  all  this 
will  take  place.  Judge  if,  with  such  diagnosis,  any  Morrison's 
Pill  is  like  to  be  discoverable  ! 

But  the  Life-fountain  within  you  once  again  set  flowing, 
what  innumerable  '  things/  whole  sets  and  classes  and  conti- 
nents of  6  things/  year  after  year,  and  decade  after  decade,  and 
century  after  century,  will  then  be  doable  and  done  !  Not 
Emigration,  Education,  Corn  Law  Abrogation,  Sanitary  Regu- 
lation, Land  Property -Tax  ;  not  these  alone,  nor  a  thousand 
times  as  much  as  these.  Good  Heavens,  there  will  then  be 
light  in  the  inner  heart  of  here  and  there  a  man,  to  discern 
what  is  just,  what  is  commanded  by  the  Most  High  God,  what 
must  be  done,  jrere  it  never  so  '  impossible/  Vain  jargon  in 
favour  of  the  palpably  unjust  will  then  abridge  itself  within 
limits.  Vain  jargon,  on  Hustings,  in  Parliaments  or  wherever 
else,  when  here  and  there  a  man  has  vision  for  the  essential 
God's-Truth  of  the  things  jargoned  of,  will  become  very  vain 
indeed.  The  silence  of  here  and  there  such  a  man,  how  elo- 
quent in  answer  to  such  jargon  !  Such  jargon,  frightened  at 
its  own  gaunt  echo,  will  unspeakably  abate  ;  nay,  for  a  while, 
may  almost  in  a  manner  disappear, — the  wise  answering  it  in 
silence,  and  even  the  simplest  taking  cue  from  them  to  hoot 
it  down  wherever  heard.  It  will  be  a  blessed  time  ;  and 
many  'things '  will  become  doable, — and  when  the  brains  are 
out,  an  absurdity  will  die  !  Not  easily  again  shall  a  Corn- 
Law  argue  ten  years  for  itself  ;  and  still  talk  and  argue, 
when  impartial  persons  have  to  say  with  a  sigh  that,  for  so 
long  back,  they  have  heard  no  '  argument '  advanced  for  it 
but  such  as  might  make  the  angels  and  almost  the  very  jack- 
asses weep  ! — 

Wholly  a  blessed  time  :  when  jargon  might  abate,  and  here 
and  there  some  genuine  speech  begin.  When  to  the  noble 
opened  heart,  as  to  such  heart  they  alone  do,  all  noble  things 
began  to  grow  visible  ;  and  the  difference  between  just  and 


28 


PROEM. 


unjust,  between  true  and  false,  between  work  and  sham -work, 
between  speech  and  jargon,  was  once  more,  what  to  our 
happier  Fathers  it  used  to  be,  infinite, — as  between  a  Heavenly 
thing  and  an  Infernal :  the  one  a  thing  which  you  were  not  to 
do,  which  you  were  wise  not  to  attempt  doing  ;  which  it  were 
better  for  you  to  have  a  millstone  tied  round  your  neck,  and 
be  cast  into  the  sea,  than  concern  yourself  with  doing  ! — 
Brothers,  it  will  not  be  a  Morrison's  Pill,  or  remedial  meas- 
ure, that  will  bring  all  this  about  for  us. 

And  yet,  very  literally,  till,  in  some  shape  or  other,  it  be 
brought  about,  we  remain  cureless  ;  till  it  begin  to  be 
brought  about,  the  cure  does  not  begin.  For  Nature  and 
Fact,  not  Eed-tape  and  Semblance,  are  to  this  hour  the  basis 
of  man's  life  ;  and  on  those,  through  never  such  strata  of 
these,  man  and  his  life  and  all  his  interests  do,  sooner  or 
later,  infallibly  come  to  rest, — and  to  be  supported  or  be 
swallowed  according  as  they  agree  with  those.  The  question 
is  asked  of  them,  not,  How  do  you  agree  with  Downing-street 
and  accredited  Semblance?  but,  How  do  you  agree  with 
God's  Universe  and  the  actual  Reality  of  things  ?  This  Uni- 
verse has  its  Laws.  If  we  walk  according  to  the  Law,  the 
Law-Maker  will  befriend  us  ;  if  not,  not.  Alas,  by  no  Re- 
form Bill,  Ballot-box,  Five-point  Charter,  by  no  boxes  or 
bills  or  charters,  can  you  perform  this  alchemy :  '  Given  a 
world  of  Knaves,  to  produce  an  Honesty  from  their  united 
action  ! '  It  is  a  distillation,  once  for  all,  not  possible.  You 
pass  it  through  alembic  after  alembic,  it  comes  out  still  a 
Dishonesty,  with  a  new  dress  on  it,  a  new  colour  to  it.  '  While 
we  ourselves  continue  valets,  how  can  any  hero  come  to 
govern  us  ?  '  We  are  governed,  very  infallibly,  by  the  '  sham- 
hero,' — whose  name  is  Quack,  whose  work  and  governance  is 
Plausibility,  and  also  is  Falsity  and  Fatuity  ;  to  which  Nature 
says,  and  must  say  when  it  comes  to  her  to  speak,  eternally 
No  !  Nations  cease  to  be  befriended  of  the  Law-Maker,  when 
they  walk  not  according  to  the  Law.  The  Sphinx-question 
remains  unsolved  by  them,  becomes  ever  more  insoluble. 

If  thou  ask  again,  therefore,  on  the  Morrison's  Pill  hypoth- 


MORRISON'S  PILL. 


29 


esis,  What  is  to  be  done  ?  allow  me  to  reply  :  By  thee,  for 
the  present,  almost  nothing.  Thou  there,  the  thing  for  thee 
to  do  is,  if  possible,  to  cease  to  be  a  hollow  sounding-shell  01 
hearsays,  egoisms,  purblind  dilettantisms  ;  and  become,  were 
it  on  the  infinitely  small  scale,  a  faithful  discerning  soul, 
Thou  shalt  descend  into  thy  inner  man,  and  see  if  there  be  any 
traces  of  a  soul  there  ;  till  then  there  can  be  nothing  done  ! 
O  brother,  we  must  if  possible  resuscitate  some  soul  and  con- 
science in  us,  exchange  our  dilettantisms  for  sincerities,  our 
dead  hearts  of  stone  for  living  hearts  of  flesh.  Then  shall  we 
discern,  not  one  tiling,  but,  in  clearer  or  dimmer  sequence,  a 
whole  endless  host  of  things  that  can  be  done.  Do  the  first 
of  these  ;  do  it ;  the  second  will  already  have  become  clearer, 
doabler  ;  the  second,  third,  and  three-thousandth  will  then 
have  begun  to  be  possible  for  us.  Not  any  universal  Mor- 
rison's Pill  shall  we  then,  either  as  swallowers  or  as  venders, 
ask  after  at  all  ;  but  a  far  different  sort  of  remedies  :  Quacks 
shall  no  more  have  dominion  over  us,  but  true  Heroes  and 
Healers  ! 

Will  not  that  be  a  thing  worthy  of  c  doing  ; '  to  deliver  our- 
selves from  quacks,  sham-heroes  ;  to  deliver  the  whole  world 
more  and  more  from  such!  They  are  the  one  bane  of  the 
world.  Once  clear  the  world  of  them,  it  ceases  to  be  a  Devil's- 
world,  in  all  fibres  of  it  wretched,  accursed  ;  and  begins  to  be  a 
God's  world,  blessed,  and  working  hourly  towards  blessedness  ! 
Thou  for  one  wilt  not  again  vote  for  any  quack,  do  honour  to 
any  edge-gilt  vacuity  in  man's  shape  :  cant  shall  be  known  to 
thee  by  the  sound  of  it ; — thou  wilt  fly  from  cant  with  a  shud- 
der never  felt  before  ;  as  from  the  opened  litany  of  Sorcerers' 
Sabbaths,  the  true  Devil  worship  of  this  age,  more  horrible 
than  any  other  blasphemy,  profanity,  or  genuine  blackguardism 
elsewhere  audible  among  men.  It  is  alarming  to  witness, — ■ 
in  its  present  completed  state  !  And  Quack  and  Dupe,  as  we 
must  ever  keep  in  mind,  are  upper-side  and  under  of  the  self- 
same substance  ;  convertible  personages  :  turn  up  your  dupe 
into  the  proper  fostering  element,  and  he  himself  can  become 
a  quack ;  there  is  in  him  the  due  prurient  insincerity,  open 


so 


PROEM. 


voracity  for  profit,  and  closed  sense  for  truth,  whereof  quacks 
too,  in  all  their  kinds,  are  made. 

Alas,  it  is  not  to  the  hero,  it  is  to  the  sham -hero  that,  of 
right  and  necessity,  the  Valet-world  belongs.  '  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  '  The  reader  sees  whether  it  is  like  to  be  the  seeking 
and  swallowing  of  some  '  remedial  measure  ! ' 


CHAPTEK  V. 

ARISTOCRACY   OF  TALENT. 

When  an  individual  is  miserable,  what  does  it  most  of  all 
behove  him  to  do  ?  To  complain  of  this  man  or  of  that,  of 
this  thing  or  of  that  ?  To  fill  the  world  and  the  street  with 
lamentation,  objurgation  ?  Not  so  at  all ;  the  reverse  of  so. 
All  moralists  advise  him  not  to  complain  of  any  person  or  of 
any  thing,  but  of  himself  only.  He  is  to  know  of  a  truth  that 
being  miserable  he  has  been  unwise,  he.  Had  he  faithfully 
followed  Nature  and  her  Laws,  Nature,  ever  true  to  her  Laws, 
would  have  yielded  fruit  and  increase  and  felicity  to  him  : 
but  he  has  followed  other  than  Nature's  Laws ;  and  now  Na- 
ture, her  patience  with  him  being  ended,  leaves  him  desolate  ; 
answers  with  very  emphatic  significance  to  him  :  No.  Not 
by  this  road,  my  son  ;  by  another  road  shalt  thou  attain  well- 
being  :  this,  thou  perceivest,  is  the  road  to  ill  being  ;  quit 
this  ! — So  do  all  moralists  advise  :  that  the  man  penitently  say 
to  himself  first  of  all,  B ahold  I  was  not  wise  enough  ;  I 
quitted  the  laws  of  Fact,  which  are  also  called  the  Laws  of 
God,  and  mistook  for  them  the  Laws  of  Sham  and  Semblance, 
which  are  called  the  Devil's  Laws  ;  therefore  am  I  here. 

Neither  with  Nations  that  become  miserable  is  it  funda- 
mentally otherwise.  The  ancient  guides  of  Nations,  Prophets, 
Priests,  or  whatever  their  name,  wrere  well  aware  of  this  ;  and, 
down  to  a  late  epoch,  impressively  taught  and  inculcated  it. 
The  modern  guides  of  Nations,  who  also  go  under  a  great  v 
riety  of  names,  Journalists,  Political  Economists,  Politician 
Pamphleteers,  have  entirely  forgotten  this,  and  are  ready  to 
deny  this.    But  it  nevertheless  remains  eternally  undeniable ,? 


ARISTOCRACY  OF  TALENT. 


31 


nor  is  there  any  doubt  but  we  shall  all  be  taught  it  yet,  and 
made  again  to  confess  it :  we  shall  all  be  striped  and  scourged 
till  we  do  learn  it  ;  and  shall  at  last  either  get  to  know  it,  or 
be  striped  to  death  in  the  process.  For  it  is  undeniable  ! 
When  a  Nation  is  unhappy,  the  old  Prophet  was  right  and 
not  wrong  in  saying  to  it :  Ye  have  forgotten  God,  ye  have 
quitted  the  ways  of  God,  or  ye  would  not  have  been  un- 
happy. It  is  not  according  to  the  laws  of  Fact  that  ye  have 
lived  and  guided  yourselves,  but  according  to  the  laws  of  De- 
lusion, Imposture,  and  wilful  and  unwilf ul  Mistake  of  Fact  ; 
behold  therefore  the  Unveracity  is  worn  out ;  Nature's  long- 
suffering  with  you  is  exhausted  ;  and  ye  are  here  ! 

Surely  there  is  nothing  very  inconceivable  in  this,  even  to 
the  Journalist,  to  the  Political  Economist,  Modern  Pamphlet- 
eer, or  any  two-legged  animal  without  feathers !  If  a  coun- 
try finds  itself  wretched,  sure  enough  that  country  has  been 
misguided :  it  is  with  the  wretched  Twenty-seven  Millions, 
fallen  wretched,  as  with  the  Unit  fallen  wretched  :  they  as  he 
have  quitted  the  course  prescribed  by  Nature  and  the  Su- 
preme Powers,  and  so  are  fallen  into  scarcity,  disaster,  infe- 
licity ;  and  pausing  to  consider  themselves,  have  to  lament 
and  say  :  Alas,  we  were  not  wise  enough  !  We  took  transient 
superficial  Semblance  for  everlasting  central  Substance  ;  we 
have  departed  far  away  from  the  Laws  of  this  Universe,  and 
behold  nowT  lawless  Chaos  and  inane  Chimera  is  ready  to  de- 
vour us! — 'Nature  in  late  centuries,"  says  Sauerteig,  '  was 
*  universally  supposed  to  be  dead  ;  an  old  eight-day  clock, 
'  made  many  thousand  years  ago,  and  still  ticking,  but  dead 
4  as  brass, — which  the  Maker,  at  most,  sat  looking  at,  in  a 
1  distant,  singular,  and  indeed  incredible  manner  :  but  now  I 
6  am  happy  to  observe,  she  is  everywhere  asserting  herself  to 
6  be  not  dead  and  brass  at  all,  but  alive  and  miraculous,  ce- 
tf  lestial-in-fernal,  with  an  emphasis  that  will  again  penetrate 
'  the  thickest  head  of  this  Planet  by  and  by ! ' — — 

Indisputable  enough  to  all  mortals  now,  the  guidance  of 
this  country  has  not  been  sufficiently  wise  :  men  too  foolish 
have  been  set  to  the  guiding  and  governing  of  it,  and  have 
guided  it  hither  :  we  must  find  wiser, — wiser,  or  else  we 


PROEM. 


perisii !  To  this  length  of  insight  all  England  has  now  ad- 
vanced ;  but  as  yet  no  farther.  All  England  stands  wringing 
its  hands,  asking  itself,  nigh  desperate,  What  farther?  Re- 
form Bill  proves  to  be  a  failure  ;  Benthamee  Radicalism,  the 
gospel  of  'Enlightened  Selfishness,' dies  out,  or  dwindles  into 
Five-point  Chartism,  amid  the  tears  and  hootings  of  men  : 
what  next  are  we  to  hope  or  try  ?  Five-point  Charter,  Free- 
trade  ;  Church-extension,  Sliding-scale  ;  what,  in  Heaven's 
name,  are  we  next  to  attempt,  that  we  sink  not  in  inane  Chi- 
mera, and  be  devoured  of  Chaos? — The  case  is  pressing,  and 
one  of  the  most  complicated  in  the  world.  A  God's-message 
never  came  to  thicker-skinned  people  ;  never  had  a  God's- 
message  to  pierce  through  thicker  integuments,  into  heavier 
ears.  It  is  Fact,  speaking  once  more,  in  miraculous  thunder- 
voice,  from  out  of  the  centre  of  the  world  ; — how  unknown 
its  language  to  the  deaf  and  foolish  many  ; — how  distinct,  un- 
deniable, terrible  and  yet  beneficent,  to  the  hearing  few: 
Behold,  ye  shall  grow  wiser,  or  ye  shall  die  !  Truer  to  Na- 
ture's Fact,  or  inane  Chimera  will  swallow  you ;  in  whirlwinds 
of  fire,  you  and  your  Mammonisms,  Dilettantisms,  your  Midas- 
eared  philosophies,  double-barrelled  Aristocracies,  shall  dis- 
appear ! — Such  is  the  God's-message  to  us,  once  more,  in 
these  modern  days. 

We  must  have  more  Wisdom  to  govern  us,  we  must  be 
governed  by  the  Wisest,  we  must  have  an  Aristocracy  of  Tal- 
ent !  cry  many.  True,  most  true  ;  but  how  to  get  it  ?  The 
following  extract  from  our  young  friend  of  the  Iloundsdilch 
Indicator  is  worth  perusing:  'At  this  time,' says  he,  'while 
'  there  is  a  cry  everywhere,  articulate  or  inarticulate,  for  an 
'"Aristocracy  of  Talent,"  a  Governing  Class  namely  which 
<  did  govern,  not  merely  which  took  the  wages  of  govern- 
'  ing,  and  could  not  with  all  our  industry  be  kept  from  mis- 
'  governing,  corn-la  wing,  and  playing  the  very  deuce  with  us, — 
6  it  may  not  be  altogether  useless  to  remind  some  of  the 
'  greener-headed  sort  what  a  dreadfully  difficult  affair  the 
'  getting  of  such  an  Aristocracy  is !  Do  you  expect,  my 
'  friends,  that  your  indispensable  Aristocracy  of  Talent  is  to 


ARISTOCRACY  OF  TALENT. 


33 


f  be  enlisted  straightway,  by  some  sort  of  recruitment  afore- 
'  thought,  out  of  the  general  population  ;  arranged  in  supreme 
(  regimental  order  ;  and  set  to  rule  over  us  ?  That  it  will  be 
'  got  sifted,  like  wheat  out  of  chaff,  from  the  Twenty-seven 
'  Million  British  subjects ;  that  any  Ballot-box,  Keform  Bill, 
'  or  other  Political  Machine,  with  Force  of  Public  Opinion 
'  never  so  active  on  it,  is  likely  to  perform  said  process  of 

*  sifting  ?  Would  to  Heaven  that  we  had  a  sieve  ;  that  we 
6  could  so  much  as  fancy  any  kind  of  sieve,  wind-fanners,  or  ne- 
(  plus-ultra  of  machinery,  devisable  by  man,  that  would  do  it ! 

' Done  nevertheless,  sure  enough,  it  must  be  ;  it  shall  and 
'  will  be.    We  are  rushing  swiftly  on  the  road  to  destruction  ; 

*  every  hour  bringing  us  nearer,  until  it  be,  in  some  measure, 
'done.  The  doing  of  it  is  not  doubtful ;  only  the  method  and 
'  the  costs  !  Nay  I  will  even  mention  to  you  an  infallible  sift- 
f  ing-process  whereby  he  that  has  ability  will  be  sifted  out  to 
c  rule  among  us,  and  that  same  blessed  Aristocracy  of  Talent 
6  be  verily,  in  an  approximate  degree,  vouchsafed  us  by  and 

*  by  :  an  infallible  sifting-process  ;  to  which,  however,  no  soul 
'  can  help  his  neighbour,  but  each  must,  with  devout  prayer 
'  to  Heaven,  endeavour  to  help  himself.  It  is,  O  friends,  that 
'  all  of  us,  that  many  of  us,  should  acquire  the  true  eye  for 

■  talent,  which  is  dreadfully  wanting  at  present !  The  true 
'  eye  for  talent  presupposes  the  true  reverence  for  it, — O 
1  Heavens,  presupposes  so  many  things  ! 

'  For  example,  you  Bobus  Higgins,  Sausage-maker  on  the 
'  great  scale,  who  are  raising  such  a  clamour  for  this  Aristoc- 
'  racy  of  Talent,  what  is  it  that  you  do,  in  that  big  heart  of 

■  yours,  chiefly  in  very  fact  pay  reverence  to  ?  Is  it  to  talent, 
?  intrinsic  manly  worth  of  any  kind,  you  unfortunate  Bobus  ? 
'  The  manliest  man  that  you  saw  going  in  a  ragged  coat,  did 
c  you  ever  reverence  him  ;  did  you  so  much  as  know  that  he 
f  was  a  manly  man  at  all,  till  his  coat  grew  better  ?  Talent ! 
\ 1  understand  you  to  be  able  to  worship  the  fame  of  talent, 

■  the  power,  cash,  celebrity  or  other  success  of  talent ;  but  the 
1  talent  itself  is  a  thing  you  never  saw  with  eyes.  Nay  what  is 
6  it  in  yourself  that  you  are  proudest  of,  that  you  take  most 
'  pleasure  in  surveying  meditatively  in  thoughtful  moments  ? 

3 


34 


PROEM. 


*  Speak  now,  is  it  the  bare  Bobus  stript  of  his  very  name  and 
'  shirt,  and  turned  loose  upon  society,  that  you  admire  and 
'  thank  Heaven  for ;  or  Bobus  with  his  cash-accounts  and 

*  larders  dropping  fatness,  with  his  respectabilities,  warm  gar- 
'  nitures,  and  pony-chaise,  admirable  in  some  measure  to  cer- 
'  tain  of  the  flunkey  species  ?  Your  own  degree  of  worth  and 
£  talent,  is  it  of  infinite  value  to  you  ;  or  only  of  finite, — meas- 
4  urable  by  the  degree  of  currency,  and  conquest  of  praise  or 
4  pudding,  it  has  brought  you  to  ?  Bobus,  you  are  in  a  vicious 
4  circle,  rounder  than  one  of  your  own  sausages  ;  and  will 
4  never  vote  for  or  promote  any  talent,  except  what  talent  or 
4  sham-talent  has  already  got  itself  voted  for  ! ' — We  here  cut 
short  the  Indicator;  all  readers  perceiving  whither  he  now 
tends. 

4  More  Wisdom  '  indeed  :  but  where  to  find  more  Wisdom  ? 
We  have  already  a  Collective  Wisdom,  after  its  kind, — though 
'  class-legislation,'  and  another  thing  or  two,  affect  it  some- 
what !  On  the  whole,  as  they  say,  Like  people  like  priest ; 
so  we  may  say,  Like  people  like  king.  The  man  gets  himself 
appointed  and  elected  who  is  ablest — to  be  appointed  and 
elected.  What  can  the  incorruptiblest  Bobuses  elect,  if  it  be 
not  some  Bobissimus,  should  they  find  such  ? 

Or,  ugain,  perhaps  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  Nation,  Wis- 
dom enough,  '  collect '  it  as  we  may,  to  make  an  adequate  Col- 
lective !  That  too  is  a  case  which  may  befal :  a  ruined  man 
staggers  down  to  ruin  because  there  was  not  wisdom  enough 
in  him  ;  so,  clearly  also,  may  Twenty-seven  Million  collective 
men  ! — But  indeed  one  of  the  infalliblest  fruits  of  Unwisdom 
in  a  Nation  is  that  it  cannot  get  the  use  of  what  Wisdom  is 
actually  in  it :  that  it  is  not  governed  by  the  wisest  it  has, 
who  alone  have  a  divine  right  to  govern  in  all  Nations  ;  but  by 
the  sham-wisest,  or  even  by  the  openly  not-so-wise  if  they  are 
handiest  otherwise  !  This  is  the  infalliblest  result  of  Unwis- 
dom ;  and  also  the  balefullest,  immeasuraWest, — not  so  much 
what  we  can  call  a  poison:/Wu£,  as  a  universal  death-disease, 
and  poisoning  of  the  wThole  tree.  For  hereby  are  fostered, 
fed  into  gigantic  bulk,  all  manner  of  Unwisdoms,  poison- 


HERO'  WORSHIP. 


35 


fruits ;  till,  as  we  say,  the  life-tree  everywhere  is  made  a 
upas-tree,  deadly  Unwisdom  overshadowing  all  things  ;  and 
there  is  done  what  lies  in  human  skill  to  stifle  all  Wisdom 
everywhere  in  the  birth,  to  smite  our  poor  world  barren  of 
Wisdom, — and  make  your  utmost  Collective  Wisdom,  were  it 
collected  and  elected  by  Rhadamanthus,  iEacus  and  Minos, 
not  to  speak  of  drunken  Tenpound  Franchisers  with  their 
ballot-boxes,  an  inadequate  Collective  !  The  Wisdom  is  not 
now  there  :  how  will  you  '  collect '  it  ?  As  well  wash  Thames 
mud,  by  improved  methods,  to  find  more  gold  in  it. 

Truly,  the  first  condition  is  indispensable,  That  Wisdom  be 
there  :  but  the  second  is  like  unto  it,  is  properly  one  with  it ; 
these  two  conditions  act  and  react  through  every  fibre  of 
them,  and  go  inseparably  together.  If  you  have  much  Wis- 
dom in  your  Nation,  you  will  get  it  faithfully  collected;  for 
the  wise  love  Wisdom,  and  will  search  for  it  as  for  life  and 
salvation.  If  you  have  little  Wisdom,  you  will  get  even  that 
little  ill-collected,  trampled  under  foot,  reduced  as  near  as 
possible  to  annihilation  ;  for  fools  do  not  love  Wisdom  ;  they 
are  foolish,  first  of  all,  because  they  have  never  loved  Wisdom, 
— but  have  loved  their  own  appetites,  ambitions,  their  cor- 
oneted  coaches,  tankards  of  heavy-wet.  Thus  is  your  candle 
lighted  at  both  ends,  and  the  progess  towards  consummation 
is  swift.  Thus  is  fulfilled  that  saying  in  the  Gospel :  To  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given  ;  and  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be 
taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath.  Very  literally,  in  a  very 
fatal  manner,  that  saying  is  here  fulfilled. 

Our  £  Aristocracy  of  Talent '  seems  at  a  considerable  distance 
yet ;  does  it  not,  O  Bobus  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 

HERO-WORSHIP. 

To  the  present  Editor,  not  less  than  to  Bobus,  a  Govern- 
ment of  the  Wisest,  what  Bobus  calls  an  Aristocracy  of  Talent, 
seems  the  one  healing  remedy  :  but  he  is  not  so  sanguine  as 
Bobus  with  respect  to  the  means  of  realising  it.  He  thinks 
that  we  have  at  once  missed  realising  it,  and  come  to  need  it 


PROEM, 


so  pressingly,  by  departing  far  from  the  inner  eternal  Laws 
and  taking  up  with  the  temporary  outer  semblances  of  Laws. 
He  thinks  that  '  enlightened  Egoism/  never  so  luminous, 
is  not  the  rule  by  which  man's  life  can  be  led.  That  'Lais' 
sez-faire,'  '  Supply-and-demand/  '  Cash-payment  for  the  sole 
nexus/  and  so  forth,  were  not,  are  not,  and  will  never  be,  a 
practicable  Law  of  Union  for  a  Society  of  Men.  That  Poor 
and  Rich,  that  Governed  and  Governing,  cannot  long  live  to- 
gether on  any  such  Law  of  Union.  Alas,  he  thinks  that  man 
has  a  soul  in  him  different  from  the  stomach  in  any  sense  of 
this  word  ;  that  if  said  soul  be  asphyxied,  and  lie  quietly  for- 
gotten, the  man  and  his  affairs  are  in  a  bad  wTay.  He  thinks 
that  said  soul  will  have  to  be  resuscitated  from  its  asphyxia ; 
that  if  it  prove  irresuscitable,  the  man  is  not  long  for  this 
world.  In  brief,  that  Midas-eared  Mammonism,  double-bar- 
relled Dilettantism,  and  their  thousand  adjuncts  and  corolla- 
ries, are  not  the  Law  by  which  God  Almighty  has  appointed 
this  his  Universe  to  go.  That,  once  for  all,  these  are  not  the 
Law  :  and  then  farther  that  we  shall  have  to  return  to  what  is 
the  Law,  — not  by  smooth  flowery  paths,  it  is  like,  and  with 
'  tremendous  cheers'  in  our  throat ;  but  over  steep  untrodden 
places,  through  stormclad  chasms,  waste  oceans,  and  the  bosom 
of  tornadoes  ;  thank  Heaven,  if  not  through  very  Chaos  and 
the  Abyss!  The  resuscitating  of  a  soul  that  has  gone  to 
asphyxia  is  no  momentary  or  pleasant  process,  but  a  long  and 
terrible  one. 

To  the  present  Editor,  'Hero-worship/  as  he  has  elsewhere 
named  it,  means  much  more  than  an  elected  Parliament,  or 
stated  Aristocracy,  of  the  Wisest ;  for,  in  his  dialect,  it  is  the 
summary,  ultimate  essence,  and  supreme  practical  perfection 
of  all  manner  of  'worship/  and  true  worthships  and  noble- 
nesses whatsoever.  Such  blessed  Parliament  and,  were  it 
once  in  perfection,  blessed'  Aristocracy  of  the  Wisest,  god- 
honoured  and  man-honoured,  he  does  look  for,  more  and 
more  perfected, — as  the  topmost  blessed  practical  apex  of  a 
whole  world  reformed  from  sham-worship,  informed  anew 
with  worship,  with  truth  and  blessedness !  He  thinks  that 
Hero-worship,  done  differently  in  every  different  epoch  of  the 


HERO-  WORSHIP. 


31 


world,  is  the  soul  of  all  social  business  among  men  ;  that  the 
doing  of  it  well,  or  the  doing  of  it  ill,  measures  accurately 
what  degree  of  well-being  or  of  ill-being  there  is  in  the 
world's  affairs.  He  thinks  that  we,  on  the  whole,  do  our 
Hero-worship  worse  than  any  Nation  in  this  world  ever  did  it 
before  :  that  the  Burns  an  Exciseman,  the  Byron  a  Literary 
Lion,  are  intrinsically,  all  things  considered,  a  baser  and 
falser  phenomenon  than  the  Odin  a  God,  the  Mahomet  a 
prophet  of  God.  It  is  this  Editor's  clear  opinion,  accord- 
ingly, that  we  must  learn  to  do  our  Hero-worship  better  ; 
that  to  do  it  better  and  better,  means  the  awakening  of  the 
Nation's  soul  from  its  asphyxia,  and  the  return  of  blessed 
life  to  us, — Heaven's  blessed  life,  not  Mammon's  galvanic  ac- 
cursed one.  To  resuscitate  the  Asphyxied,  apparently  now 
moribund,  and  in  the  last  agony  if  not  resuscitated  :  such 
and  no  other  seems  the  consummation. 

4  Hero-worship,'  if  you  will, — yes,  friends  ;  but,  first  of  all, 
by  being  ourselves  of  heroic  mind.  A  whole  world  of  He- 
roes ;  a  world  not  of  Flunkeys,  where  no  Hero-King  can 
reign  :  that  is  what  we  aim  at !  We,  for  our  share,  will  put 
away  all  Flunkeyism,  Baseness,  Unveracity  from  us ;  we  shall 
then  hope  to  have  Noblenesses  and  Veracities  set  over  us  ; 
never  till  then.  Let  Bobus  and  Company  sneer,  "That  is 
your  Reform  !  "  Yes,  Bobus,  that  is  our  Reform  ;  and  ex- 
cept in  that,  and  what  will  follow  out  of  that,  Ave  have  no 
hope  at  all.  Reform,  like  Charity,  O  Bobus,  must  begin  at 
home.  Once  well  at  home,  how  will  it  radiate  outwards,  ir- 
repressible, into  all  that  we  touch  and  handle,  speak  and 
work  ;  kindling  ever  new  light,  by  incalculable  contagion, 
spreading  in  geometric  ratio,  far  and  wide, — doing  good  only, 
wheresoever  it  spreads,  and  not  evil. 

By  Reform  Bills,  Anti  Corn-Law  Bills,  and  thousand  other 
bills  and  methods,  we  will  demand  of  our  Governors,  with 
emphasis,  and  for  the  first  time  not  without  effect,  that  they 
cease  to  be  quacks,  or  else  depart  ;  that  they  set  no  quacker- 
ies and  blockheadisms  anywhere  to  rule  over  us,  that  they 
utter  or  act  no  cant  to  us, — it  will  be  better  if  they  do  not. 
For  we  shall  now  know  quacks  when  we  see  them ;  cant3 


ss 


PROEM. 


when  we  hear  it,  shall  be  horrible  to  us  !  We  will  say,  with 
the  poor  Frenchman  at  the  Bar  of  the  Convention,  though 
in  wiser  style  than  he,  and  '  for  the  space '  not  '  of  an  hour  9 
but  of  a  lifetime  :  "  Je  demande  Varrestalion  des  coguins  et  des 
laches."  x  Arrestment  of  the  knaves  and  dastards  : '  ah,  we 
know  what  a  work  that  is  ;  how  long  it  will  be  before  they 
are  all  or  mostly  got  '  arrested  :' — but  here  is  one  ;  arrest  him 
in  God's  name  ;  it  is  one  fewer  !  We  will,  in  all  practicable 
ways,  by  word  and  silence,  by  act  and  refusal  to  act,  energeti- 
cally demand  that  arrestment — "je  demande  cette  arrestation- 
1 1  !  " — and  by  degrees  infallibly  attain  it.  Infallibly  :  for 
light  spreads  ;  all  human  souls,  never  so  bedarkened,  love 
light ;  light  once  kindled  spreads,  till  all  is  luminous  ;  till  the 
cry,  "  Arrest  your  knaves  and  dastards  "  rises  imperative  from 
millions  of  hearts,  and  rings  and  reigns  from  sea  to  sea.  Nay, 
how  many  of  them  may  we  not  'arrest'  with  our  own  hands, 
even  now  ;  we  !  Do  not  countenance  them,  thou  there  :  turn 
away  from  their  lackered  sumptuosities,  their  belauded  soph- 
istries, their  serpent  graciosities,  their  spoken  and  acted  cant, 
with  a  sacred  horror,  with  an  Apage  Satanas. — Bobus  and 
Company,  and  all  men  will  gradually  join  us.  We  demand 
arrestment  of  the  knaves  and  dastards,  and  begin  by  arrest- 
ing our  own  poor  selves  out  of  that  fraternity.  There  is  no 
other. reform  conceivable.  Thou  and  I,  my  friend,  can,  in  the 
most  flunkey  world,  make,  each  of  us,  one  non-flunkey,  one 
hero,  if  we  like  :  that  will  be  two  heroes  to  begin  with  : — 
Courage  !  even  that  is  a  whole  world  of  heroes  to  end  with, 
or  what  we  poor  Two  can  do  in  furtherance  thereof ! 

Yes,  friends :  Hero -kings  and  a  whole  world  not  unheroic, 
— there  lies  the  port  and  happy  haven,  towards  which, 
through  all  these  stormtost  seas,  French  Revolutions,  Chart- 
isms, Manchester  Insurrections,  that  make  the  heart  sick  in 
these  bad  days,  the  Supreme  Powers  are  driving  us.  On  the 
whole,  blessed  be  the  Supreme  Powers,  stern  as  they  are  ! 
Towards  that  haven  will  we,  O  friends  ;  let  all  true  men,  with 
what  of  faculty  is  in  them,  bend  valiantly,  incessantly,  with 
thousandfold  endeavour,  thither,  thither  !  There,  or  else  in 
the  Ocean-abysses,  it  is  very  clear  to  me,  we  shall  arrive. 


HERO-  WORSHIP. 


39 


Well ;  here  truly  is  no  answer  to  the  Sphinx-question  ;  not 
the  answer  a  disconsolate  Public,  inquiring  at  the  College  of 
Health,  was  in  hopes  of !  A  total  change  of  regimen,  change 
of  constitution  and  existence  from  the  very  centre  of  it ;  a 
new  body  to  be  got,  with  resuscitated  soul, — not  without  con- 
vulsive travail- throes  ;  as  all  birth  and  new-birth  presupposes 
travail !  This  is  sad  news  to  a  disconsolate  discerning  Pub- 
lic, hoping  to  have  got  off  by  some  Morrison's  Pill,  some 
Saint  John's  corrosive  mixture  and  perhaps  a  little  blistery 
friction  on  the  back ! — We  were  prepared  to  part  with  our  Corn- 
Law,  with  various  Laws  and  Unlaws  :  but  this,  what  is  this  ? 

Nor  has  the  Editor  forgotten  how  it  fares  with  your  ill- 
boding  Cassandras  in  Sieges  of  Troy.  Imminent  perdition  is 
not  usually  driven  away  by  words  of  warning.  Didactic  Des- 
tiny has  other  methods  in  store  ;  or  these  would  fail  always. 
Such  wTords  should,  nevertheless,  be  uttered,  when  they  dwell 
truly  in  the  soul  of  any  man.  Words  are  hard,  are  importu- 
nate ;  but  how  much  harder  the  importunate  events  they  fore- 
shadow !  Here  and  there  a  human  soul  may  listen  to  the 
words, — who  knows  how  many  human  souls  ?  whereby  the  im- 
portunate events,  if  not  diverted  and  prevented,  will  be  ren- 
dered less  hard.  The  present  Editor's  purpose  is  to  himself 
full  of  hope. 

For  though  fierce  travails,  though  wide  seas  and  roaring 
gulfs  lie  before  us,  is  it  not  something  if  a  Loadstar,  in  the 
eternal  sky,  do  once  more  disclose  itself  ;  an  everlasting  light, 
shining  through  all  cloud-tempests  and  roaring  billows,  ever 
as  we  emerge  from  the  trough  of  the  sea  :  the  blessed  beacon, 
far  off  on  the  edge  of  far  horizons,  towards  which  we  are  to 
steer  incessantly  for  life  ?  Is  it  not  something  ;  O  Heavens, 
is  it  not  all  ?  There  lies  the  Heroic  Promised  Land  ;  under 
that  Heaven's-light,  my  brethren,  bloom  the  Happy  Isles, — 
there,  O  there  !    Thither  will  we  ; 

1  There  dwells  the  great  Acliilles  whom  we  knew.'  * 

There  dwell  all  Heroes,  and  will  dwell :  thither,  all  ye  heroic- 
minded  ! — The  Heaven's  Loadstar  once  clearly  in  our  eye3 
*  Tennyson's  Poems  (Ulysses). 


40 


PROEM. 


how  will  each  true  man  stand  truly  to  his  work  in  the  ship ; 
how,  with  undying  hope,  will  all  things  be  fronted,  all  be 
conquered.  Nay,  with  the  ship's  prow  once  turned  in  that 
direction,  is  not  all,  as  it  were,  already  well?  Sick  wasting- 
misery  has  become  noble  manful  effort  with  a  goal  in  our  eye. 
1  The  choking  Nightmare  chokes  us  no  longer  ;  for  we  stir 
under  it ;  the  Nightmare  has  already  fled.' — 

Certainly,  could  the  present  Editor  instruct  men  how  to 
know  Wisdom,  Heroism,  when  they  see  it,  that  they  might 
do  reverence  to  it  only,  and  loyally  make  it  ruler  over  them, 
— yes,  he  were  the  living  epitome  of  all  Editors,  Teachers, 
Prophets,  that  now  teach  and  prophesy  ;  he  were  an  Apollo- 
Morrison,  a  Trismegistus  and  effective  Cassandra!  Let  no 
Able  Editor  hope  such  things.  It  is  to  be  expected  the 
present  laws  of  copyright,  rate  of  reward  per  sheet,  and  other 
considerations,  will  save  him  from  that  peril.  Let  no  Editor 
hope  such  things  :  no  ;— and  yet  let  all  Editors  aim  towards 
such  things,  and  even  towards  such  alone  !  One  knows  not 
what  the  meaning  of  editing  and  writing  is,  if  even  this  be  not 
it. 

Enough,  to  the  present  Editor  it  has  seemed  possible  some 
glimmering  of  light,  for  here  and  there  a  human  soul,  might 
lie  in  these  confused  Paper-Masses  now  intrusted  to  him  ; 
wherefore  he  determines  to  edit  the  same.  Out  of  old  Books, 
new  Writings,  and.  much  Meditation  not  of  yesterday,  he  will 
endeavour  to  select  a  thing  or  two  ;  and  from  the  Past,  in  a 
circuitous  way,  illustrate  the  Present  and  the  Future.  The 
Past  is  a  dim  indubitable  fact :  the  Future  too  is  one,  only 
dimmer  ;  nay  properly  it  is  the  same  fact  in  new  dress  and 
development.  For  the  Present  holds  in  it  both  the  whole 
Past  and  the  whole  Future  ; — as  the  Life-tkee  Igdkasil,  wide- 
waving,  many  toned,  has  its  roots  down  deep  in  the  Death- 
kingdoms,  among  the  oldest  dead  dust  of  men,  and  with  its 
boughs  reaches  always  beyond  the  stars  ;  and  in  all  times  and 
places  is  one  and  the  same  Life-tree ! 


BOOK  II. 


TEE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELOND. 

We  will,  in  this  Second  Portion  of  our  Work,  strive  to  pene- 
trate a  little,  by  means  of  certain  confused  Papers,  printed  and 
other,  into  a  somewhat  remote  Century ;  and  to  look  face  to 
face  on  it,  in  hope  of  perhaps  illustrating  our  own  poor 
Century  thereby.  It  seems  a  circuitous  way  ;  but  it  may 
prove  a  way  nevertheless.  For  man  has  ever  been  a  striving, 
struggling,  and,  in  spite  of  wide-spread  calumnies  to  the  con- 
trary, a  veracious  creature  :  the  Centuries  too  are  all  lineal  chil- 
dren of  one  another ;  and  often,  in  the  portrait  of  early  grand- 
fathers, this  and  the  other  enigmatic  feature  of  the  newest 
grandson  shall  disclose  itself,  to  mutual  elucidation.  This 
Editor  will  venture  on  such  a  thing. 

Besides,  in  Editors'  Books,  and  indeed  everywhere  else  in 
the  world  of  Today,  a  certain  latitude  of  movement  grows 
more  and  more  becoming  for  the  practical  man.  Salvation 
lies  not  in  tight  lacing,  in  these  times  ; — how  far  from  that,  in 
any  province  whatsoever !  Readers  and  men  generally  are 
getting  into  strange  habits  of  asking  all  persons  and  things, 
from  poor  Editors'  Books  up  to  Church  Bishops  and  State 
Potentates,  not,  By  what  designation  art  thou  called  ;  in  what 
wig  and  black  triangle  dost  thou  walk  abroad  ?  Heavens,  I 
know  thy  designation  and  black  triangle  well  enough  !  But, 
in  God's  name,  what  art  thou  ?  Not  Nothing,  sayest  thou ! 
Then,  How  much  and  what  ?  This  is  the  thing  I  would  know  ; 


» 

42  THE  ANCIENT  MONK 

and  even  must  soon  know,  such  a  pass  am  I  come  to! — — 
What  weather-symptoms, — not  for  the  poor  Editor  of  Books 
alone  !  The  Editor  of  Books  may  understand  withal  that  if, 
as  is  said,  i  many  kinds  are  permissible,'  there  is  one  kind  not 
permissible,  '  the  kind  that  has  nothing  in  it,  le  genre  ennuy- 
eux;'  and  go  on  his  way  accordingly. 

A  certain  Jocelinus  de  Brakelonda,  a  natural-born  English- 
man, has  left  us  an  extremely  foreign  Book,*  which  the  la- 
bours of  the  Camden  Society  have  brought  to  light  in  these 
days.  Jocelin's  Book,  the  c  Chronicle,'  or  private  Boswellean 
Notebook,  of  Jocelin,  a  certain  old  St.  Edmundsbury  Monk 
and  Boswell,  now  seven  centuries  old,  how  remote  is  it  from 
us  ;  exotic,  extraneous  ;  in  all  ways,  coming  from  far  abroad  ! 
The  language  of  it  is  not  foreign  only  but  dead  :  Monk-Latin 
lies  across  not  the  British  Channel,  but  the  ninefold  Stygian 
Marshes,  Stream  of  Lethe,  and  one  knows  not  where  !  Roman 
Latin  itself,  still  alive  for  us  in  the  Elysian  Fields  of  Memory, 
is  domestic  in  comparison.  And  then  the  ideas,  life-furniture, 
whole  workings  and  ways  of  this  worthy  Jocelin  ;  covered 
deeper  than  Pompeii  with  the  lava-ashes  and  inarticulate 
wreck  of  seven  hundred  years ! 

Jocelin  of  Brakelond  cannot  be  called  a  conspicuous  liter- 
ary character  ;  indeed  few  mortals  that  have  left  so  visible  a 
work,  or  footmark,  behind  them  can  be  more  obscure.  One 
other  of  those  vanished  Existences,  whose  work  has  not  yet 
vanished  ; — almost  a  pathetic  phenomenon,  were  not  the 
whole  world  full  of  such  !  The  builders  of  Stonehenge,  for  ex- 
ample : — or  alas,  what  say  we,  Stonehenge  and  builders  ?  The 
writers  of  the  Universal  Review  and  Homer's  Iliad  ;  the  paviers 
of  London  streets ; — sooner  or  later,  the  entire  Posterity  of 
Adam !  It  is  a  pathetic  phenomenon  ;  but  an  irremediable, 
-nay,  if  well  meditated,  a  consoling  one. 

By  his  dialect  of  Monk-Latin,  and  indeed  by  his  name,  this 
Jocelin  seems  to  have  been  a  Norman  Englishman ;  the  sur- 
name de  Brakelonda  indicates  a  native  of  St.  Edmundsbury 

*  Chronica  Jocelini  de  Brakelonda,  de  rebus  gestis  Samsonis  Ab- 
batis  MonasteHi  Sancti  Edmundi:  nunc  primum  funis  mandata,  curanU 
Johanne  Gage  Rokewood.    (Camden  Society,  London,  lb 40.) 


JOCELIN  OF  BRAKE L OND. 


43 


itself,  Brakelond  being  the  known  old  name  of  a  street  or 
quarter  in  that  venerable  Town.  Then  farther,  sure  enough, 
our  Jocelin  was  a  Monk  of  St.  Edmundsbury  Convent ;  held 
some  '  obediential  subaltern  officiality  there,  or  rather,  in  suc- 
cession several ;  was,  for  one  thing,  '  chaplain  to  my  Lord 
Abbot,  living  beside  him  night  and  day  for  the  space  of  six 
years  ; ' — which  last,  indeed,  is  the  grand  fact  of  Jocelin's  ex- 
istence, and  properly  the  origin  of  this  present  Book,  and  of 
the  chief  meaning  it  has  for  us  now.  He  was,  as  we  have 
hinted,  a  kind  of  born  Boswell,  though  an  infmitesimaHy  small 
one  ;  neither  did  he  altogether  want  his  Johnson  even  there 
and  then.  Johnsons  are  rare  ;  yet,  as  has  been  asserted,  Bos- 
wells  perhaps  still  rarer, — the  more  is  the  pity  on  both  sides  ! 
This  Jocelin,  as  we  can  discern  wTell,  was  an  ingenious  and 
ingenuous,  a  cheery-hearted,  innocent,  yet  withal  shrewd,  no- 
ticing, quick-witted  man  ;  and  from  under  his  monk's  cowl 
has  looked  out  on  that  narrow  section  of  the  world  in  a  really 
human  manner  ;  not  in  any  simial,  canine,  ovine,  or  otherwise 
mEuman  manner, — afflictive  to  all  that  have  humanity  !  The 
man  is  of  patient,  peaceable,  loving,  clear-smiling  nature  ; 
open  for  this  and  that.  A  wise  simplicity  is  in  him  ;  much 
natural  sense  ;  a  veracity  that  goes  deeper  than  words.  Ve- 
racity :  it  is  the'  basis  of  all  ;  and,  some  say,  means  genius  it- 
self ;  the  prime  essence  of  all  genius  whatsoever.  Our  Jocelin, 
for  the  rest,  has  read  his  classical  manuscripts,  his  Virgilius, 
his  Flaccus,  Ovidius  Naso  ;  of  course  still  more,  his  Homilies 
and  Breviaries,  and  if  not  the  Bible,  considerable  extracts  of 
the  Bible.  Then  also  he  has  a  pleasant  wit  ;  and  loves  a 
timely  joke,  though  in  mild  subdued  manner  :  very  amiable  to 
see.  A  learned  grown  man,  yet  with  the  heart  as  of  a  good 
child  ;  whose  whole  life  indeed  has  been  that  of  a  child, — St. 
Edmundsbury  Monastery  a  larger  kind  of  cradle  for  him,  in 
which  his  whole  prescribed  duly  was  to  sleep  kindly,  and  love 
his  mother  well !  This  is  the  Biography  of  Jocelin  ;  c  a  man 
of  excellent  religion/  says  one  of  his  contemporary  Brother 
Monks,  ' eximiw  religionis,  pofens  sermone  et  opere.' 

For  one  thing,  he  had  learned  to  write  a  kind  of  Monk  or 
Dog  Latin,  still  readable  to  mankind ;  and,  by  good  luck  for 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


us,  had  bethought  him  of  noting  clown  thereby  what  things 
seemed  notablest  to  him.  Hence  gradually  resulted  a  Chron- 
ica Jocelini ;  new  Manuscript  in  the  Liber  Albus  of  St.  Ed- 
mundsbury.  Which  Chronicle,  once  written  in  its  childlike 
transparency,  in  its  innocent  good-humour,  not  without 
touches  of  ready  pleasant  wit  and  many  kinds  of  worth,  other 
men  liked  naturally  to  read  :  whereby  it  failed  not  to  be 
copied,  to  be  multiplied,  to  be  inserted  in  the  Liber  Albus  ; 
and  so  surviving  Henry  the  Eighth,  Putney  Cromwell,  the 
Dissolution  of  Monasteries,  and  all  accidents  of  malice  and 
neglect  for  six  centuries  or  so,  it  got  into  the  Harleian  Collec- 
tion,— and  has  now  therefrom,  by  Mr.  Eokewood  of  the  Cam- 
den Society,  been  deciphered  into  clear  print  ;  and  lies  before 
us,  a  dainty  thin  quarto,  to  interest  for  a  few  minutes  whom- 
soever it  can. 

Here  too  it  will  behove  a  just  Historian  gratefully  to  say 
that  Mr.  Eokewood,  Jocelin's  Editor,  has  done  his  editorial 
function  well.  Not  only  has  he  deciphered  his  crabbed  Man- 
uscript into  clear  print  ;  but  he  has  attended,  what  his  fellow 
editors  are  not  always  in  the  habit  of  doing,  to  the  important 
truth  that  the  Manuscript  so  deciphered  ought  to  have  a  mean- 
ing for  the  reader.  Standing  faithfully  by  his  text,  and  print- 
ing its  very  errors  in  spelling,  in  grammar  or  otherwise,  he 
has  taken  care  by  some  note  to  indicate  that  they  are  errors, 
and  what  the  correction  of  them  ought  to  be.  Jocelin's 
Monk-Latin  is  generally  transparent,  as  shallow  limpid  water. 
But  at  any  stop  that  may  occur,  of  which  there  are  a  few,  and 
only  a  very  few,  we  have  the  comfortable  assurance  that  a 
meaning  does  lie  in  the  passage,  and  may  by  industry  be  got 
at ;  that  a  faithful  editor's  industry  had  already  got  at  it  be- 
fore passing  on.  A  compendious  useful  Glossary  is  given  ; 
nearly  adequate  to  help  the  uninitiated  through  :  sometimes 
one  wishes  it  had  been  a  trifle  larger  ;  but,  with  a  Spelman 
and  Ducange  at  your  elbow,  how- easy  to  have  made  it  far 
too  large  !  Notes  are  added,  generally  brief  ;  sufficiently  ex- 
planatory of  most  points.  Lastly,  a  copious  correct  Index  ; 
which  no  such  Book  should  want,  and  which  unluckily  very 
few  possess.    And  so,  in  a  word,  the  Chronicle  of  Jocelin  is. 


JOCELIN  OF  BRAKEL  ONB. 


45 


as  it  professes  to  be,  unwrapped  from  its  thick  cerements, 
and  fairly  brought  forth  into  the  common  daylight,  so  that  he 
who  runs,  and  has  a  smattering  of  grammar,  may  read. 

We  have  heard  so  much  of  Monks  ;  everywhere,  in  real  and 
fictitious  History,  from  Muratori  Annals  to  Radcliffe  Ro- 
mances,  these  singular  two-legged  animals,  with  their  rosaries 
and  breviaries,  with  their  shaven  crowns,  hair-cilices,  and 
vows  of  poverty,  masquerade  so  strangely  through  our  fancy  ; 
and  they  are  in  fact  so  very  strange  an  extinct  species  of  the 
human  family, — a  veritable  Monk  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds  is 
worth  attending  to,  if  by  chance  made  visible  and  audible. 
Here  he  is,  and  in'  his  hand  a  magical  speculum,  much  gone 
to  rust  indeed,  yet  in  fragments  still  clear  ;  wherein  the  mar- 
vellous image  of  his  existence  does  still  shadow  itself,  though 
fitfully,  and  as  with  an  intermittent  light !  Will  not  the 
reader  peep  with  us  into  this  singular  camera  lucida,  where  an 
extinct  species,  though  fitfully,  can  still  be  seen  alive?  Ex- 
tinct species,  we  say  ;  for  the  live  specimens  which  still  go 
about  under  that  character  are  too  evidently  to  be  classed  as 
spurious  in  Natural  History  :  the  Gospel  of  Richard  Ark- 
wright  once  promulgated,  no  Monk  of  the  old  sort  is  any 
longer  possible  in  this  w^orld.  But  fancy  a  deep-buried  Mas- 
todon, some  fossil  Megatherion,  Ichthyosaurus,  were  to  begin 
to  speak  from  amid  its  rock-swathings,  never  so  indistinctly  ! 
The  most  extinct  fossil  species  of  Men  or  Monks  can  do,  and 
does,  this  miracle, — thanks  to  the  Letters  of  the  Alphabet, 
good  for  so  many  things. 

Jocelin,  we  said,  was  somewhat  of  a  Boswell ;  but  unfortu- 
nately, by  Nature,  he  is  none  of  the  largest,  and  distance  has 
now  dwarfed  him  to  an  extreme  degree.  His  light  is  most 
feeble,  intermittent,  and  requires  the  intensest  kindest  inspec- 
tion ;  otherwise  it  will  disclose  mere  vacant  haze.  It  must 
be  owned,  the  good  Jocelin,  spite  of  his  beautiful  child-like 
character,  is  but  an  altogether  imperfect  '  mirror '  of  these 
old-world  things  !  The  good  man,  he  looks  on  us  so  clear 
and  cheery,  and  in  his  neighbourly  soft-smiling  eyes  we  see 
sa  well  our  own  shadow, — we  have  a  longing  always  to  cross- 


46 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


question  him,  to  force  from  him  an  explanation  of  much. 
But  no  ;  Jocelin,  though  lie  talks  with  such  clear  familiarity, 
like  a  next-door  neighbour,  will  not  answer  any  questions  ; 
that  is  the  peculiarity  of  him,  dead  these  six  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  and  quite  deaf  to  us,  though  still  so  audible  !  The 
good  man,  he  cannot  help  it,  nor  can  we. 

But  truly  it  is  a  strange  consideration  this  simple  one,  as 
we  go  on  with  him,  or  indeed  with  any  lucid  simple-hearted 
soul  like  him  :  Behold  therefore,  this  England  of  the  Year 
1200  was  no  chimerical  vacuity  or  dreamland,  peopled  with 
mere  vaporous  Fantasms,  Rymer's  Fcedera,  and  Doctrines  of 
the  Constitution  ;  but  a  green  solid  place,  that  grew  corn  and 
several  other  things.  The  Sun  shone  on  it  ;  the  vicissitude 
of  seasons  and  human  fortunes.  Cloth  was  woven  and  worn  ; 
ditches  were  dug,  furrow-fields  ploughed,  and  houses  built. 
Day  by  day  all  men  and  cattle  rose  to  labour,  and  night  by 
night  returned  home  weary  to  their  several  lairs.  In  wondrous 
Dualism,  then  as  now,  lived  nations  of  breathing  men  ;  alter- 
nating, in  all  ways,  between  Light  and  Dark  ;  between  joy 
and  sorrow,  between  rest  and  toil, — between  hope,  hoj)e 
reaching  high  as  heaven,  and  fear  deep  as  very  Hell.  Not 
vapour  Fantasms,  Bymer's  Fcedera  at  all !  Coeur-de-Lion  was 
not  a  theatrical  popinjay  with  greaves  and  steel-cap  on  it,  but 
a  man  living  upon  victuals, — not  imported  by  Peel's  Tariff. 
Cceur-de-Lion  came  palpably  athwart  this  Jocelin  at  St.  Ed- 
munclsbury  ;  and  had  almost  peeled  the  sacred  gold  '  Fere- 
tram, '  or  St.  Edmund  Shrine  itself,  to  ransom  him  out  of  the 
Danube  Jail. 

These  clear  eyes  of  neighbour  Jocelin  looked  on  the  bodily 
presence  of  King  John  ;  the  very  John  Samterre,  or  Lackland, 
who  signed  Magna  Charta  afterwards  in  Kunnymead.  Lack- 
land, with  a  great  retinue,  boarded  once,  for  the  matter  of  a 
fortnight,  in  St.  Edmundsbury  Convent ;  daily  in  the  very 
eye-sight,  palpable  to  the  very  fingers  of  our  Jocelin  :  O  Joce- 
lin, what  did  he  say,  what  did  he  do  ;  how  looked  he,  lived 
he  ; — at  the  very  lowest,  what  coat  or  breeches  had  he  on  ? 
Jocelin  is  obstinately  silent.  Jocelin  marks  down  what  •in- 
terests him ;  entirely  deaf  to  us.    With  Jocelin's  eyes  we  di& 


JOCELIN  OF  BRAKE  L  ON  J). 


4-7 


cern  almost  nothing  of  John  Lackland.  As  through  a  glass 
darkly,  we  with  our  own  eyes  and  appliances,  intensely  look- 
ing, discern  at  most :  A  blustering,  dissipated  human  figure, 
with  a  kind  of  blackguard  quality  air,  in  cramoisy  velvet,  or 
other  uncertain  texture,  uncertain  cut,  with  much  plumage 
and  fringing  ;  amid  numerous  other  human  figures  of  the 
like  ;  riding  abroad  with  hawks  ;  talking  noisy  nonsense  ; — 
tearing  out  the  bowels  of  St.  Edmundsbury  Convent  (its  lar- 
ders namely  and  cellars)  in  the  most  ruinous  way,  by  living 
at  rack  and  manger  there.  Jocelin  notes  only,  with  a  slight 
subacidity  of  manner,  that  the  King's  Majesty,  Dominus  Rex, 
did  leave,  as  gift  for  our  St.  Edmund  Shrine,  a  handsome 
enough  silk-cloak — or  rather  pretended  to  leave,  for  one  of 
his  retinue  borrowed  it  of  us,  and  we  never  got  sight  of  it 
again  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  that  the  Dominus  Rex,  at  departing, 
gave  us  'thirteen  sterlingii,'  one  shilling  and  one  penny,  to 
say  a  mass  for  him  ;  and  so  departed, — like  a  shabby  Lackland 
as  he  was  !  '  Thirteen  pence  sterling,'  this  was  wThat  the  Con- 
vent got  from  Lackland,  for  all  the  victuals  he  and  his  had 
made  away  with.  We  of  course  said  our  mass  for  him,  having 
covenanted  to  do  it, — but  let  impartial  posterity  judge  with 
what  degree  of  fervour  ! 

And  in  this  manner  vanishes  King  Lackland  ;  traverses 
swiftly  our  strange  intermittent  magic-mirror,  jingling  the 
shabby  thirteen  pence  merely ;  and  rides  with  his  hawks 
into  Egyptian  night  again.  It  is  Jocelin's  manner  with  all 
things  ;  and  it  is  men's  manner  and  men's  necessity.  How 
intermittent  is  our  good  Jocelin  ;  marking  down,  without  eye 
to  us,  what  he  finds  interesting  !  How  much  in  Jocelin,  as  in 
all  History,  and  indeed  in  all  Nature,  is  at  once  inscrutable 
and  certain  ;  so  dim,  yet  so  indubitable  ;  exciting  us  to  end- 
less considerations.  For  King  Lackland  was  there,  verily  he  ; 
and  did  leave  these  tredecim  sterlingii,  if  nothing  more,  and 
did  live  and  look  in  one  way  or  the  other,  and  a  whole  world 
was  living  and  looking  along  with  him  !  There,  we  say,  is 
the  grand  peculiarity  ;  the  immeasurable  one  ;  distinguishing, 
to  a  really  infinite  degree,  the  poorest  historical  Fact  from 
all  Fiction  whatsoever.    Fiction,  'Imagination,'  *  Imaginative 


48 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Poetry,'  &c.  &c,  except  as  the  vehicle  for  truth,  or  fact  of 
some  sort, — which  surely  a  man  should  first  try  various  other 
ways  of  vehiculating  and  conveying  safe, — what  is  it  ?  Let 
the  Minerva  and  other  Presses  respond  ! — 

But  it  is  time  we  were  in  St.  Edmund  sbury  Monastery,  and 
Seven  good  Centuries  off.  If  indeed  it  be  possible,  by  any 
aid  of  Jocelin,  by  any  human  art,  to  get  thither,  with  a  reader 
or  two  still  following  us  ? 


CHAPTER  II 

ST.    EDMUND  SBTTKY. 

The  Burg,  Bury,  or  '  Berry '  as  they  call  it,  of  St.  Edmund 
is  still  a  prosperous  brisk  Town  ;  beautifully  diversifying,  with 
its  clear  brick  houses,  ancient  clean  streets,  and  twenty  or 
fifteen  thousand  busy  souls,  the  general  grassy  face  of  Suffolk  ; 
looking  out  right  pleasantly,  from  its  hill-slope,  towards  the 
rising  Sun  :  and  on  the  eastern  edge  of  it,  still  runs,  long, 
black  and  massive,  a  range  of  monastic  ruins :  into  the  wide 
internal  spaces  of  which  the  stranger  is  admitted  on  payment 
of  one  shilling.  Internal  spaces  laid  out,  at  present,  as  a 
botanic  garden.  Here  stranger  or  townsman,  sauntering  at 
his  leisure  amid  these  vast  grim  venerable  ruins,  may  persuade 
himself  that  an  Abbey  of  St.  Edmundsbury  did  once  exist ; 
nay,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it :  see  here  the  ancient  massive 
Gateway,  of  architecture  interesting  to  the  eye  of  Dilettantism  ; 
and  farther  on,  that  other  ancient  Gateway,  now  about  to 
tumble,  unless  Dilettantism,  in  these  very  months,  can  sub- 
scribe money  to  cramp  it  and  prop  it ! 

Here,  sure  enough,  is  an  Abbey ;  beautiful  in  the  eye  of 
Dilettantism.  Giant  Pedantry  also  will  step  in,  with  its  huge 
Dugdale  and  other  enormous  Monasticons  under  its  arm,  and 
cheerfully  apprise  you,  That  this  was  a  very  great  Abbey, 
owner  and  indeed  creator  of  St.  Edmund's  Town  itself,  owner 
of  wide  lands  and  revenues  ;  nay  that  its  lands  were  once  a 
county  of  themselves  ;  that  indeed  King  Canute  or  Knut  was 
very  kind  to  it,  and  gave  St.  Edmund  his  own  gold  crown  off 
his  head,  on  one  occasion  ;  for  the  rest,  that  the  Monks  were  of 


ST  EDM  UNDSB  UR  Y. 


such  and  such  a  genus,  such  and  such  a  number  ;  that  they 
had  so  many  carucates  of  land  in  this  hundred,  and  so  many 
in  that  ;  and  then  farther,  that  the  large  Tower  or  Belfry  was 
built  by  such  a  one,  and  the  smaller  Belfry  was  built  by  &c. 
&c. — Till  human  nature  can  stand  no  more  of  it ;  till  human 
nature  desperately  take  refuge  in  forgetfulness,  almost  in  flat 
disbelief  of  the  whole  business,  Monks,  Monastery,  Belfries, 
Carucates  and  all!  Alas,  what  mountains  of  dead  ashes, 
wreck  and  burnt  bones,  does  assiduous  Pedantry  dig  up  from 
the  Past  Time,  and  name  it  History,  and  Philosophy  of  His- 
tory ;  till,  as  we  say,  the  human  soul  sinks  wearied  and  be- 
wildered ;  till  the  Past  Time  seems  all  one  infinite  incredible 
grey  void,  without  sun,  stars,  hearth-fires,  or  candle-light : 
dim  offensive  dust-whirlwinds  filling  Universal  Nature  ;  and 
over  your  Historical  Library,  it  is  as  if  all  the  Titans  had 
written  for  themselves  Dry  rubbish  shot  here  ! 

And  yet  these  grim  old  walls  are  not  a  dilettantism  and 
dubiety  ;  they  are  an  earnest  fact.  It  was  a  most  real  and 
serious  purpose  they  were  built  for !  Yes,  another  world  it 
was,  when  these  black  ruins,  wdiite  in  their  new  mortar  and 
fresh  chiselling,  first  saw  the  sun  as  walls,  long  ago.  Gauge 
not,  with  thy  dilettante  compasses,  with  that  placid  dilettante 
simper,  the  Heaven's  Watchtower  of  our  Fathers,  the  fallen 
God's-Houses,  the  Golgotha  of  true  Souls  departed  ! 

Their  architecture,  belfries,  land-carucates  ?  Yes, — and  that 
is  but  a  small  item  of  the  matter.  Does  it  never  give  thee 
pause,  this  other  strange  item  of  it,  that  men  then  had  a  soul, — 
not  by  hearsay  alone,  and  as  a  figure  of  speech  ;  but  as  a  truth 
that  they  knew,  and  practically  went  upon !  Verily  it  was 
another  world  then.  Their  Missals  have  become  incredible, 
a  sheer  platitude,  sayest  thou  ?  Yes,  a  most  poor  platitude  ; 
and  even,  if  thou  wilt,  an  idolatry  and  blasphemy,  should  any 
one  persuade  thee  to  believe  them,  to  pretend  praying  by 
them.  But  yet  it  is  pity  we  had  lost  tidings  of  our  souls  : — 
actually  we  shall  have  to  go  in  quest  of  them  again,  or  worse 
in  all  ways  will  befall !  A  certain  degree  of  soul,  as  Ben  Jon- 
son  reminds  us,  is  indispensable  to  keep  the  very  body  from 
4 


50 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


destruction  of  the  frightfullest  sort ;  to  'save  us,'  says  he,  c  the 
expense  of  salt.'  Ben  has  known  men  who  had  soul  enough 
to  keep  their  body  and  five  senses  from  becoming  carrion,  and 
save  salt  : — men,  and  also  Nations.  You  may  look  in  Man- 
chester Hunger  mobs  and  Corn-law  Commons  Houses,  and 
various  other  quarters,  and  say  whether  either  soul  or  else 
salt  is  not  somewhat  wanted  at  present ! 

Another  world,  truly  :  and  this  present  poor  distressed 
world  might  get  some  profit  by  looking  wisely  into  it,  instead 
of  foolishly.  But  at  lowest,  O  dilettante  friend,  let  us  know 
always  that  it  was  a  world,  and  not  a  void  infinite  of  grey  haze 
with  fantasms  swimming  in  it.  These  old  St.  Edmundsbury 
walls,  I  say,  were  not  peopled  with  fantasms  ;  but  with  men 
of  flesh  and  blood,  made  altogether  as  we  are.  Had  thou  and 
I  then  been,  who  knows  but  we  ourselves  had  taken  refuge 
from  an  evil  Time,  and  fled  to  dwell  here,  and  meditate  on  an 
Eternity,  in  such  fashion  as  we  could  ?  Alas,  how  like  an 
old  osseous  fragment,  a  broken  blackened  shin-bone  of  the 
old  dead  Ages,  this  black  ruin  looks  out,  not  yet  covered  by 
the  soil :  still  indicating  what  a  once  gigantic  Life  lies  buried 
there  !  It  is  dead  now,  and  dumb ;  but  was  alive  once,  and 
spake.  For  twenty  generations,  here  was  the  earthly  arena 
where  painful  living  men  worked  out  their  life-wrestle, — 
looked  at  by  Earth,  by  Heaven  and  Hell.  Bells  tolled  to 
prayers  ;  and  men,  of  many  humours,  various  thoughts, 
chanted  vespers,  matins  ; — and  round  the  little  islet  of  their 
life  rolled  forever  (as  round  ours  still  rolls,  though  w7e  are 
blind  and  deaf)  the  illimitable  Ocean,  tinting  all  things  with 
Us  eternal  hues  and  reflexes  ;  making  strange  prophetic  music ! 
How  silent  now ;  all  departed,  clean  gone.  The  World- 
Dramaturgist  has  written :  Exeunt.  The  devouring  Time- 
Demons  have  made  away  with  it  all :  and  in  its  stead,  there 
is  either  nothing  ;  or  what  is  worse,  offensive  universal  dust- 
clouds,  and  grey  eclipse  of  Earth  and  Heaven,  from  '  dry  rub- 
bish shot  here  !  ' — 

Truly,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  get  across  the  chasm  of  Seven 
Centuries,  filled  with  such  material.    But  here,  of  all  helps, 


LANDLORD  EDMUND. 


51 


is  not  a  Boswell  the  welcomest ;  even  a  small  Boswell  ?  Vera- 
city, true  simplicity  of  heart,  how  valuable  are  these  always  ! 
He  that  speaks  what  is  really  in  him,  will  find  men  to  listen, 
though  under  never  such  impediments.  Even  gossip,  spring- 
ing free  and  cheery  from  a  human  heart,  this  too  is  a  kind  of 
veracity  and  speech  ; — much  preferable  to  pedantry  and  inane 
grey  haze  !  Jocelin  is  weak  and  garrulous,  but  he  is  human. 
Through  the  thin  watery  gossip  of  our  Jocelin,  we  do  get 
some  glimpses  of  that  deep-buried  Time  ;  discern  veritably, 
though  in  a  fitful  intermittent  manner,  these  antique  figures 
and  their  life-method,  face  to  face !  Beautifully,  in  our 
earnest  loving  glance,  the  old  centuries  melt  from  opaque  to 
partially  translucent,  transparent  here  and  there  ;  and  the 
void  black  Night,  one  finds,  is  but  the  summing-up  of  innu- 
merable peopled  luminous  Days.  .Not  parchment  Chartularies, 
Doctrines  of  the  Constitution,  O  Dryasdust  ;  not  altogether, 
my  erudite  friend  ! — 

Eeaders  who  please  to  go  along  with  us  into  this  poor  Jocelini 
Chronica  shall  wander  inconveniently  enough,  as  in  wintry 
twilight,  through  some  poor  stript  hazel-grove,  rustling  with 
foolish  noises,  and  perpetually  hindering  the  eyesight  ;  but 
across  which  here  and  there,  some  real  human  figure  is  seen 
moving :  very  strange  ;  whom  we  could  hail  if  he  would  an- 
swer ;— and  we  look  into  a  pair  of  eyes  deep  as  our  own,  im- 
aging our  own,  but  all  unconscious  of  us  ;  to  whom  we  for  the 
time  are  become  as  spirits  and  invisible ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

LANDLORD  EDMUND. 

Some  three  centuries  or  so  had  elasped  since  Beodric' 's-worth* 
became  St.  Edmund's  Stow,  St.  Edmund's  Town  and  Monas- 
tery, before  Jocelin  entered  himself  a  Novice  there.    'It  was/ 

*  Dryasdust  puzzles  and  pokes  for  some  biography  of  this  Beodric  ; 
and  repugns  to  consider  him  a  mere  East-Anglian  Person  of  Condition, 
not  in  need  of  a  biography,  whose  peopS,  weorth  or  worth,  that  is  to  say, 
Growth,  Increase,  or  as  we  should. now  name  it,  Estate,  that  same  Ham- 


m 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


says  lie,  *  the  year  after  the  Flemings  were  defeated  at  Forn- 
<  ham  St.  Genevieve.' 

Much  passes  away  into  oblivion  :  this  glorious  victoiy  over 
the  Flemings  at  Fornham  has,  at  the  present  date,  greatly 
dimmed  itself  out  of  the  minds  of  men.  A  victory  and  battle 
nevertheless  it  was,  in  its  time  :  some  thrice-renowned  Earl 
of  Leicester,  not  of  the  De  Montfort  breed,  (as  may  be  read 
in  Philosophical  and  other  Histories,  could  any  human  mem- 
ory retain  such  things),  had  quarrelled  with  his  sovereign, 
Henry  Second  of  the  name  ;  had  been  worsted,  it  is  like,  and 
maltreated,  and  obliged  to  fly  to  foreign  parts  :  but  had  ral- 
lied there  into  new  vigour  ;  and  so,  in  the  year  1173,  returns 
across  the  German  Sea,  with  a  vengeful  army  of  Flemings. 
Eeturns,  to  the  coast  of  Suffolk  ;  to  Framlingham  Castle, 
where  he  is  welcomed  ;  westward  towards  St.  Edmundsbury 
and  Fornham  Church,  where  he  is  met  by  the  constituted  au- 
thorities with  posse  comitatus  ;  and  swiftly  cut  in  pieces,  he 
and  his,  or  laid  by  the  heels  ;  on  the  right  bank  of  the  ob- 
scure river  Lark, — as  traces  still  existing  will  verify. 

For  the  river  Lark,  though  not  very  discoverably,  still  runs 
or  stagnates  in  that  country  ;  and  the  battle-ground  was 
there  ;  serving  at  present  as  a  pleasure-ground  to  his  Grace 
of  Northumberland.  Copper  pennies  of  Henry  II.  are  still 
found  there  ; — rotted  out  of  the  pouches  of  poor  slain  soldiers, 
who  had  not  had  time  to  buy  liquor  with  them.  In  the  river 
Lark  itself  was  fished  up,  within  man's  memory,  an  antique 
gold  ring  ;  which  fond  Dilettantism  can  almost  believe  may 
have  been  the  very  ring  Countess  Leicester  threw  away  in  her 

let  and  wood  Mansion,  now  St.  Edmund's  Bury,  originally  was.  For, 
adds  our  erudite  Friend,  the  Saxon  peopSan,  equivalent  to  the  German 
werden,  means  to  grow,  to  become  ;  traces  of  which  old  vocable  are  still 
found  in  the  North-country  dialects,  as,  'What  is  word  of  him  V  mean- 
ing 'What  is  become  of  him  ? '  and  the  like.  Nay  we  in  modern  Eng- 
lish still  say,  'Wo  worth  the  hour '  (Wo  befall  the  hour),  and  speak  of 
the  '  Weird  Sisters ;  '  not  to  mention  the  innumerable  other  names  of 
places  still  ending  in  weorth  or  worth.  And  indeed,  our  common  noun 
worth  in  the  sense  of  value,  does  not  this  mean  simply,  What  a  thing 
has  grown  to,  What  a  man  has  grown  to,  How  much  he  amounts  to, — 
hy  the  Threadneedle-street  standard  or  another  ! 


LANDLORD  EDMUND. 


53 


flight,  into  that  same  Lark  river  or  ditch*  Nay,  few  yean 
ago,  in  tearing  out  an  enormous  superannuated  ash-tree,  now 
grown  quite  corpulent,  bursten,  superfluous,  but  long  a  fixture 
in  the  soil,  and  not  to  be  dislodged  without  revolution, — there 
was  laid  bare,  under  its  roots,  '  a  circular  mound  of  skeletons 
wonderfully  complete/  all  radiating  from  a  centre,  faces  up- 
wards, feet  inwards  ;  a  '  radiation '  not  of  Light,  but  of  the 
Nether  Darkness  rather  ;  and  evidently  the  fruit  of  battle  ; 
for  '  many  of  the  heads  were  cleft,  or  had  arrow-holes  in  them.' 
The  Battle  of  Fornham,  therefore,  is  a  fact,  though  a  forgotten 
one  ;  no  less  obscure  than  undeniable, — like  so  many  other 
facts. 

Like  the  St.  Edmund's  Monastery  itself  !  Who  can  doubt, 
after  what  we  have  said,  that  there  was  a  Monastery  here  at 
one  time  ?  No  doubt  at  all  there  was  a  Monastery  here  :  no 
doubt,  some  three  centuries  prior  to  this  Fornham  Battle, 
there  dwelt  a  man  in  these  parts,  of  the  name  of  Edmund, 
King,  Landlord,  Duke  or  whatever  his  title  was,  of  the  East- 
ern Counties  ; — and  a  very  singular  man  and  landlord  he  must 
have  been. 

For  his  tenants,  it  would  appear,  did  not  in  the  least  com- 
plain of  him  ;  his  labourers  did  not  think  of  burning  his 
wheatstacks,  breaking  into  his  game-preserves  ;  very  far  the 
reverse  of  all  that.  Clear  evidence,  satisfactory  even  to  my 
friend  Dryasdust,  exists  that,  on'  the  contrary,  they  honoured, 
loved,  admired  this  ancient  Landlord  to  a  quite  astonishing 
degree, — and  indeed  at  last  to  an  immeasurable  and  inexpressi- 
ble degree  ;  for,  finding  no  limits  or  utterable  words  for  their 
sense  of  his  worth,  they  took  to  beatifying  and  adoring 
him  !    c Infinite  admiration,'  we  are  taught,  c  means  worship.' 

Very  singular, — could  we  discover  it !  What  Edmund's 
specific  duties  were  ;  above  all,  what  his  method  of  discharg- 
ing them  with  such  results  was,  would  surely  be  interesting  to 
know  ;  but  are  not  very  discoverable  now.  His  Life  has  be- 
come a  poetic,  nay  a  religious  Myihus  ;  though,  undeniably 
enough,  it  was  once  a  prose  Fact,  as  our  poor  lives  are  ;  and 
*  Lyttelton's  History  of  Henry  II.  (2d  Edition),  v.  169,  &c. 


54 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


even  a  very  rugged  unmanageable  one.  This  landlord  Edmund 
did  go  about  in  leather  shoes,  with  femoraiia  and  body  coat  of 
some  sort  on  him ;  and  daily  had  his  breakfast  to  procure  ; 
and  daily  had  contradictory  speeches,  and  most  contradictory 
facts  not  a  few,  to  reconcile  with  himself.  No  man  becomes 
a  Saint  in  his  sleep.  Edmund,  for  instance,  instead  of  recon- 
ciling those  same  contradictory  facts  and  speeches  to  himself ; 
which  means  subduing,  and,  in  a  manlike  and  godlike  manner, 
conquering  them  to  himself, — might  have  merely  thrown  new 
contention  into  them,  new  unwisdom  into  them,  and  so  been 
conquered  by  them  ;  much  the  commoner  case  !  In  that  way 
he  had  proved  no  '  Saint/  or  Divine-looking  Man,  but  a  mere 
Sinner,  and  unfortunate,  blameable,  more  or  less  Diabolic 
looking  man!  No  landlord  Edmund  becomes  infinitely  ad- 
mirable in  his  sleep. 

With  what  degree  of  wholesome  rigour  his  rents  were  col- 
lected we  hear  not.  Still  less  by  what  methods  he  preserved 
his  game,  whether  by  '  bushing '  or  how, — and  if  the  partridge- 
seasons  were  'excellent,'  or  were  indifferent.  Neither  do  we 
ascertain  what  kind  of  Corn-bill  he  passed,  or  wisely-adjusted 
Sliding  scale  : — but  indeed  there  were  few  spinners  in  those 
days ;  and  the  nuisance  of  spinning,  and  other  dusty  labour, 
was  not  yet  so  glaring  a  one. 

How  then,  it  may  be  asked,  did  this  Edmund  rise  into 
favour ;  become  to  such  astonishing  extent  a  recognised 
Farmer's  Friend?  Keally,  except  it  were  by  doing  justly  and 
loving  mercy,  to  an  unprecedented  extent,  one  does  not  know. 
The  man,  it  would  seem,  £  had  walked,'  as  they  say,  6  humbly 
with  God  ; 5  humbly  and  valiantly  with  God  ;  struggling  to 
make  the  Earth  heavenly,  as  he  could  :  instead  of  walking 
sumptuously  and  pridefully  with  Mammon,  leaving  the  Earth 
to  grow  hellish  as  it  liked.  Not  sumptuously  with  Mammon  ? 
How  then  could  he  'encourage  trade,' — cause  Howel  and 
James,  and  many  wine-merchants  to  bless  him,  and  the  tailor's 
heart  (though  in  a  very  short-sighted  manner)  to  sing  for  joy? 
Much  in  this  Edmund's  Life  is  mysterious. 

That  he  could,  on  occasion,  do  what  he  liked  with  his  own 
is,  meanwhile,  evident  enough.    Certain  Heathen  Physical- 


LANDLORD  EDMUND,  5r 

Force  Ultra-Chartists,  '  Danes/  as  they  were  then  called, 
coming  into  his  territory  with  their  £five  points,'  or  rather 
with  their  five-and-twenty  thousand  points  and  edges  too,  of 
pikes  namely  and  battle-axes  ;  and  proposing  mere  Heathen- 
ism, confiscation,  spoliation,  and  fire  and  sword, — Edmund 
answered  that  he  would  oppose  to  the  utmost  such  savagery. 
They  took  him  prisoner ;  again  required  his  sanction  to  said 
proposals.  Edmund  again  refused.  Cannot  we  kill  you  ? 
cried  they. — Cannot  I  die  ?  answered  he.  My  life,  I  think,  is 
my  own  to  do  what  I  like  with  !  And  he  died,  under  barbar- 
ous tortures,  refusing  to  the  last  breath  ;  and  the  Ultra- 
Chartist  Danes  lost  their  propositions  ; — and  went  with  their 
'  points '  and  other  apparatus,  as  is  supposed,  to  the  Devil, 
the  Father  of  them.  Some  say,  indeed,  these  Danes  were 
not  Ultra-Chartists,  but  Ultra-Tories,  demanding  to  reap 
where  they  had  not  sown,  and  live  in  this  world  without 
working,  though  all  the  world  should  starve  for  it ;  which 
likewise  seems  a  possible  hypothesis.  Be  what  they  might, 
they  went,  as  we  say,  to  the  Devil ;  and  Edmund  doing  what 
he  liked  with  his  own,  the  Earth  was  got  cleared  of  them. 

Another  version  is,  that  Edmund  on  this  and  the  like  oc- 
casions stood  by  his  order  ;  the  oldest,  and  indeed  only  true 
order  of  Nobility  known  under  the  stars,  that  of  Just  Men 
and  Sons  of  God,  in  opposition  to  Unjust  and  Sons  of  Belial, — 
which  latter  indeed  are  second- oldest,  but  yet  a  very  un- 
venerable  order.  This,  truly,  seems  the  likeliest  hypothesis 
of  all.  Names  and  appearances  alter  so  strangely,  in  some 
half-seore  centuries  ;  and  all  fluctuates  chameleon -like,  taking 
now  this  hue,  now  that.  Thus  much  is  very  plain,  and  does 
not  change  hue  :  Landlord  Edmund  was  seen  and  felt  by  all 
men  to  have  done  verily  a  man's  part  in  this  life-pilgrimage 
of  his  ;  and  benedictions,  and  outflowing  love  and  admiration 
from  the  universal  heart,  were  his  meed.  "Well-done  !  Well- 
done  !  cried  the  hearts  of  all  men.  They  raised  his  slain  and 
martyred  body  ;  washed  its  wounds  with  fast-flowing  uni- 
versal tears  ;  tears  of  endless  pity,  and  yet  of  a  sacred  joy  and 
triumph.  The  beautifullest  kind  of  tears, — indeed  perhaps 
the  beautifullest  kind  of  thing  :  like  a  sky  all  flashing  dia- 


56 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


monds  and  prismatic  radiance  ;  all  weeping,  yet  shone  on  bj 
the  everlasting  Sun  : — and  this  is  not  a  sky,  it  is  a  Soul  and 
living  Face  !  Nothing  liker  the  Temple  of  the  Highest,  bright 
with  some  real  effulgence  of  the  Highest,  is  seen  in  this 
world. 

O,  if  all  Yankee-land  follow  a  small  good  c  Schnuspel  the 
distinguished  Novelist '  with  blazing  torches,  dinner-invita- 
tions, universal  hep  hep-hurrah,  feeling  that  he,  though  small, 
is  something  ;  how  might  all  Angle-land  once  follow  a  hero- 
martyr  and  great  true  Son  of  Heaven  !  It  is  the  very  joy  of 
man's  heart  to  admire,  where  he  can  ;  nothing  so  lifts  him 
from  all  his  mean  imprisonments,  were  it  but  for  moments,  as 
true  admiration.  Tims  it  has  been  said,  '  all  men,  especially 
all  women,  are  born  worshippers  : '  and  will  worship,  if  it  be  but 
possible.  Possible  to  worship  a  Something,  even  a  small  one  ; 
not  so  possible  a  mere  loud-blaring  Nothing  !  What  sight  is 
more  pathetic  than  that  of  poor  multitudes  of  persons  met  to 
gaze  at  King's  Progresses,  Lord  Mayor's  Shews,  and  other 
gilt-gingerbread  phenomena  of  the  worshipful  sort,  in  these 
times  ;  each  so  eager  tor  worship  ;  each,  with  a  dim  fatal 
sense  of  disappointment,  finding  that  he  cannot  rightly  here  ! 
These  be  thy  gods,  O  Israel  ?  And  thou  art  so  willing  to 
worship, — poor  Israel ! 

In  this  manner,  however,  did  the  men  of  the  Eastern  Coun- 
ties take  up  the  slain  body  of  their  Edmund,  where  it  la 
cast  forth  in  the  village  of  Hoxne  ;  seek  out  the  severed  head 
and  reverently  reunite  the  same.  They  embalmed  him  wit 
myrrh  and  sweet  spices,  with  love,  pity,  and  all  high  an 
awful  thoughts  ;  consecrating  him  with  a  very  storm  of  me 
lodious  adoring  admiration,  and  sun-dyed  showers  of  tears  ; 
joyfully,  yet  with  awe  (as  all  deep  joy  has  something  of  th 
awful  in  it),  commemorating  his  noble  deeds  and  godlik 
walk  and  conversation  while  on  Earth.  Till,  at  length,  th 
very  Pope  and  Cardinals  at  Kome  were  forced  to  hear  of  it 
and  they,  summing  up  as  correctly  as  they  well  could,  wit 
Advocatus-Diaboh  pleadings  and  their  other  forms  of  process 
the  general  verdict  of  mankind,  declared  :  That  he  had,  i 
very  fact,  led  a  hero's  life  in  this  world  ;  and  being  now  gone. 


LANDLORD  EDMUND. 


57 


was  gone  as  they  conceived  to  God  above,  and  reaping  his  re- 
ward there.  Such,  they  said,  was  the  best  judgment  they 
could  form  of  the  case  ; — and  truly  not  a  bad  judgment.  Ac- 
quiesced in,  zealously  adopted,  with  full  assent  of  '  private 
judgment,'  by  all  mortals. 

The  rest  of  St.  Edmund's  history,  for  the  reader  sees  he  has 
now  become  a  Saint,  is  easily  conceivable.  Pious  munificence 
provided  him  a  loculus,  a  feretrum  or  shrine  ;  built  for  him  a 
wooden  chapel,  a  stone  temple,  ever  widening  and  growing 
by  new  pious  gifts  ; — such  the  overflowing  heart  feels  it  a 
blessedness  to  solace  itself  by  giving.  St.  Edmund's  Shrine 
glitters  now  with  diamond  flowerages,with  a  plating  of  wrought 
gold.  The  wooden  chapel,  as  we  say,  has  become  a  stone 
temple.  Stately  masonries,  long-clrawn  arches,  cloisters, 
sounding  aisles  buttress  it,  begirdle  it  far  and  wide.  Regi- 
mented companies  of  men,  of  whom  our  Jocelin  is  one,  de- 
vote themselves,  in  every  generation,  to  meditate  here  on 
man's  Nobleness  and  Awfulness,  and  celebrate  and  shew  forth 
the  same,  as  they  best  can, — thinking  they  will  do  it  better 
here,  in  presence  of  God  the  Maker,  and  of  the  so  Awful  and 
so  Noble  made  by  Him.  In  one  word,  St.  Edmund's  Body 
has  raised  a  Monastery  round  it.  To  such  length,  in  such 
manner,  has  the  Spirit  of  the  Time  visibly  taken  body,  and 
crystallised  itself  here.  New  gifts,  houses,  farms,  katalla  * — 
come  ever  in.  King  Knut,  whom  men  call  Canute,  whom  the 
Ocean -tide  would  not  be  forbidden  to  wet, — we  heard  already 
of  this  wise  King,  with  his  crown  and  gifts  ;  but  of  many 
others,  Kings,  Queens,  wise  men,  and  noble  loyal  women,  let 
Dryasdust  and  divine  Silence  be  the  record !  Beodric's- 
Worth  has  become  St.  Edmund's  Bury  ; — and  lasts  visible  to 
this  hour.  All  this  that  thou  now  seest,  and  namest  Bury 
Town,  is  properly  the  Funeral  Monument  of  Saint  or  Land- 
lord Edmund.  The  present  respectable  Mayor  of  Bury  may 
be  said,  like  a  Fakeer  (little  as  he  thinks  of  it),  to  have  his 
dwelling  in  the  extensive,  many-sculptured  Tombstone  of  St. 

*  Goods,  properties  ;  what  we  now  call  chattels,  and  still  more  singu 
larly  cattle,  says  my  erudite  friend ! 


58 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Edmund  ;  in  one  of  the  brick  niches  thereof  dwells  the  pres. 

ent  respectable  Mayor  of  Bury. 

Certain  times  do  crystallise  themselves  in  a  magnificent 
manner  ;  and  others,  perhaps,  are  like  to  do  it  in  rather  a 
shabby  one  ! — But  Richard  Arkwright  too  will  have  his  Monu- 
ment, a  thousand  years  hence  :  all  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire, 
and  how  many  other  shires  and  countries,  with  their  machin- 
eries and  industries,  for  his  monument !  A  true  pyramid  or 
'^ame-mountain,'  flaming  with  steam  fires  and  useful  labour 
over  wide  continents,  usefully  towards  the  Stars,  to  a  certain 
height ; — how  much  grander  than  your  foolish  Cheops  Pyra- 
mids or  Sakhara  clay  ones  !  Let  us  withal  be  hopeful,  be  con- 
tent or  patient. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ABBOT  HUGO. 

It  is  true,  all  things  have  two  faces,  a  light  one  and  a  dark. 
It  is  true,  in  three  centuries  much  imperfection  accumulates  ; 
many  an  Ideal,  monastic  or  other,  shooting  forth  into  practice 
as  it  can,  grows  to  a  strange  enough  Reality  ;  and  we  have  to 
ask  with  amazement,  Is  this  your  Ideal  !  For,  alas,  the  Ideal 
always  has  to  grow  in  the  Real,  and  to  seek  out  its  bed  and 
board  there,  often  in  a  very  sorry  way.  No  beautifullest  Poet 
is  a  Bird-of-Paradise,  living  on  perfumes ;  sleeping  in  the 
aether  with  outspread  wings.  The  Heroic,  independent  of  bed 
and  board,  is  found  in  Drury-Lane  Theatre  only  ;  to  avoid 
disappointments,  let  us  bear  this  in  mind. 

By  the  law  of  Nature,  too,  all  manner  of  Ideals  have  their 
fatal  limits  and  lot ;  their  appointed  periods  of  youth,  of 
maturity  or  perfection,  of  decline,  degradation,  and  final  death 
and  disappearance.  There  is  nothing  born  but  has  to  die. 
Ideal  monasteries,  once  grown  real,  do  seek  bed  and  board  in 
this  world  ;  do  find  it  more  and  more  successfully ;  do  get  at 
length  too  intent  on  finding  it,  exclusively  intent  on  that. 
They  are  then  like  diseased  corpulent  bodies  fallen  idiotic, 
which  merely  eat  and  sleep;  ready  for  dissolution,'  by  a 
Henry  the  Eighth  or  some  other.    Jooelin's  St.  Edmunds- 


ABBOT  HUGO. 


50 


bury  is  still  far  from  this  last  dreadful  state  :  but  here  too  the 
reader  will  prepare  himself  to  see  an  Ideal  not  sleeping  in  the 
sether  like  a  bird-of-paradise,  but  roosting  as  the  common 
woodfowl  do,  in  an  imperfect,  uncomfortable,  more  or  less 
contemptible  manner ! — 

Abbot  Hugo,  as  Jocelin,  breaking  at  once  into  the  heart  of 
the  business,  apprises  us,  had  in  those  days  grown  old,  grown 
rather  blind,  and  his  eyes  were  somewhat  darkened,  aliquan- 
tulum  caligaverunt  oculi  ejus.  He  dwelt  apart  very  much,  in 
his  Thalamus  or  peculiar  Chamber  ;  got  into  the  hands  of  flat- 
terers, a  set  of  mealy-mouthed  persons  who  strove  to  make  the 
passing  hour  easy  for  him, — for  him  easy,  and  for  themselves 
profitable  ;  accumulating  in  the  distance  mere  mountains  of 
confusion.  Old  Dominus  Hugo  sat  inaccessible  in  this  way, 
far  in  the  interior,  wrapt  in  his  warm  flannels  and  delusions  ; 
inaccessible  to  all  voice  of  Fact ;  and  bad  grew  ever  worse  with 
us.  Not  that  our  worthy  old  Dominus  Abbas  was  inattentive 
to  the  divine  offices,  or  to  the  maintenance  of  a  devout  spirit 
in  us  or  in  himself  ;  but  the  Account-Books  of  the  Convent 
fell  into  the  frightfullest  state,  and  Hugo's  annual  Budget 
grew  yearly  emptier,  or  filled  with  futile  expectations,  fatal 
deficit,  wind  and  debts  ! 

His  one  worldly  care  was  to  raise  ready  money  ;  sufficient 
for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  And  how  he  raised  it  :  From 
usurious  insatiable  Jews  ;  every  fresh  Jew  sticking  on  him 
like  a  fresh  horseleech,  sucking  his  and  our  life  out ;  crying 
continually,  Give,  give  !  Take  one  example  instead  of  scores. 
Our  Camera  having  fallen  into  ruin,  William  the  Sacristan  re- 
ceived charge  to  repair  it ;  strict  charge,  but  no  money  ; 
Abbot  Hugo  would,  and  indeed  could,  give  him  no  fraction 
of  money.  The  Camera  in  ruins,  and  Hugo  penniless  and  in- 
accessible, Willelmus  Sacrista  borrowed  Forty  Marcs  (some 
Seven-and-twenty  Pounds)  of  Benedict  the  Jew,  and  patched 
up  our  Camera  again.  But  the  means  of  repaying  him  ?  There 
were  no  means.  Hardly  could  Sacrista,  Cellerarius,  or  any 
public  officer,  get  ends  to  meet,  on  the  indispensablest  scale, 
with  their  shrunk  allowances  :  ready  money  had  vanished. 


60 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


Benedict's  Twenty-seven  pounds  grew  rapidly  at  compound 
•interest ;  and  at  length,  when  it  had  amounted  to  a  Hundred 
pounds,  he,  on  a  day  of  settlement,  presents  the  account  to 
Hugo  himself.  Hugo  already  owed  him  another  hundred  of 
his  own  ;  and  so  here  it  has  become  Two  Hundred  !  Hugo, 
in  a  fine  frenzy,  threatens  to  depose  the  Sacristan,  to  do  this 
and  do  that  ;  but,  in  the  mean  while,  How  to  quiet  your  in- 
satiable Jew  ?  Hugo,  for  this  couple  of  hundreds,  grants  the 
Jew  his  bond  for  Four  hundred,  payable  at  the  end  of  four 
years.  At  the  end  of  four  years  there  is,  of  course,  still  no 
money  ;  and  the  Jew  now  gets  a  bond  for  Eight  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds,  to  be  paid  by  instalments  Four-score  pounds 
every  year.    Here  was  a  way  of  doing  business  ! 

Neither  yet  is  this  insatiable  Jew  satisfied  or  settled  with  : 
he  had  papers  against  us  of  '  small  debts  fourteen  years  old  ; ' 
his  modest  claim  amounts  finally  to  4  Twelve  hundred  pounds 
besides  interest  ; ' — and  one  hopes  he  never  got  satisfied  in 
this  world  ;  one  almost  hopes  he  was  one  of  those  beleaguered 
Jews  who  hanged  themselves  in  York  Castle  shortly  after- 
wards, and  had  his  usances  and  quittances  and  horseleech 
papers  summarily  set  fire  to  !  For  approximate  justice  will 
strive  to  accomplish  itself ;  if  not  in  one  way,  then  in  another. 
Jews,  and  also  Christians  and  Heathens,  who  accumulate  in 
this  manner,  though  furnished  with  never  so  many  parch- 
ments, do,  at  times,  c  get  their  grinder-teeth  successively 
'pulled  out  of  their  head,  each  day  a  new  grinder/  till  the 
consent  to  disgorge  again.    A  sad  fact — worth  reflecting  on. 

Jocelin,  we  see,  is  not  without  secularity  :  Our  Dominus 
Abbas  was  intent  enough  on  the  divine  offices  ;  but  then  hi 
Account-Books —  ?  — One  of  the  things  that  strikes  us  most 
throughout,  in  Jocelin's  Chronicle,  and  indeed  in  Eadmer' 
Anselm,  and  other  old  monastic  Books,  written  evidently  by 
pious  men,  is  this,  That  there  is  almost  no  mention  whatever 
of  'personal  religion'  in  them  ;  that  the  whole  gist  of  their 
thinking  and  speculation  seems  to  be  the  '  privileges  of  our 
order,'  '  strict  exaction  of  our  dues,'  c  God's  honour  '  (meaning 
the  honour  of  our  Saint),  and  so  forth.    Is  not  this  singular  ? 


ABBOT  HUGO. 


61 


A  body  of  men,  set  apart  for  perfecting  and  purifying  their 
own  souls,  do  not  seem  disturbed  about  that  in  any  measure  : 
the  'Ideal'  says  nothing  about  its  idea;  says  much  about 
finding  bed  and  board  for  itself  !    How  is  this  ? 

Why,  for  one  thing,  bed  and  board  are  a  matter  very  apt  to 
come  to  speech  :  it  is  much  easier  to  speak  of  them  than  oi 
ideas  ;  and  they  are  sometimes  much  more  pressing  with 
some  !  Nay,  for  another  thing,  may  not  this  religious  reti- 
cence, in  these  devout  good  souls,  be  perhaps  a  merit,  and 
sign  of  health  in  them  ?  Jocelin,  Eadmer,  and  such  religious 
men,  have  as  yet  nothing  of  '  Methodism  ; '  no  Doubt,  or  even 
root  of  Doubt.  Religion  is  not  a  diseased  self-introspection, 
an  agonising  inquiry  :  their  duties  are  clear  to  them,  the  way 
of  supreme  good  plain,  indisputable,  and  they  are  travelling 
on  it.  Religion,  lies  over  them  like  an  all-embracing  heavenly 
canopy,  like  an  atmosphere  and  life-element,  which  is  not 
spoken  of,  which  in  all  things  is  presupposed  without  speech. 
Is  not  serene  or  complete  Religion  the  highest  aspect  of 
human  nature  ;  as  serene  Cant,  or  complete  No-religion,  is 
the  lowest  and  miserabJest?  Between  which  two,  all  manner 
of  earnest  Methodisms,  introspections,  agonising  inquiries, 
never  so  morbid,  shall  play  their  respective  parts,  not  without 
approbation. 

But  let  any  reader  fancy  himself  one  of  the  Brethren  in  St. 
Edmundsbury  Monastery  under  such  circumstances!  How 
can  a  Lord  Abbot,  all  stuck  over  with  horseleeches  of  this 
/nature,  front  the  world  ?  He  is  fast  losing  his  life-blood,  and 
the  Convent  will  be  as  one  of  Pharaoh's  lean  kine.  Old 
monks  of  experience  draw  their  hoods  deeper  down  ;  careful 
what  they  say  :  the  monk's  first  duty  is  obedience.  Our  Lord 
the  King,  hearing  of  sucft  work,  sends  down  his  Almoner  to 
make  investigations  :  but  what  boots  it  ?  Abbot  Hugo  as- 
sembles us  in  Chapter;  asks,  " If  there  is  any  complaint?" 
Not  a  soul  of  us  dare  answer,  "  Yes,  thousands !  "  but  we  all 
stand  silent,  and  the  Prior  even  says  that  things  are  in  a  very 
comfortable  condition.  Whereupon  old  Abbot  Hugo,  turning 
to  the  royal  messenger,  says,  "  You  see  !  " — and  the  business 


62 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


terminates  in  that  way.  I,  as  a  brisk  eyed,  noticing  youth 
and  novice,  -could  not  help  asking  of  the  elders,  asking  of 
Magister  Samson  in  particular  :  Why  he,  well  instructed  and 
a  knowing  man.  had  not  spoken  out,  and  brought  matters  to 
a  bearing  ?  Magister  Samson  was  Teacher  of  the  Novices, 
appointed  to  breed  us  up  to  the  rules,  and  I  loved  him  well. 
"Fili  mi"  answered  Samson,  "the  burnt  child  shuns  the 
fire.  Dost  thou  not  know,  our  Lord  the  Abbot  sent  me  once 
to  Acre  in  Norfolk,  to  solitary  confinement  and  bread  and 
water,  already  ?  The  Hinghams,  Hugo  and  Kobert,  have  just 
got  home  from  banishment  for  speaking.  This  is  the  hour  of 
darkness  :  the  hour  when  flatterers  rule  and  are  believed. 
Videat  Dominus,  let  the  Lord  see,  and  judge." 

In  very  truth,  what  could  poor  old  Abbot  Hugo  do?  A 
frail  old  man  ;  and  the  Philistines  were  upon  him, — that  is 
to  say,  the  Hebrews.  He  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  shrink 
away  from  them  ;  get  back  into  his  warm  flannels,  into  his 
warm  delusions  again.  Happily,  before  it  was  quite  too  late, 
he  bethought  him  of  pilgriming  to  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury. 
He  set  out,  with  a  fit  train,  in  the  autumn  days  of  the  year 
1180  ;  near  Bochester  City,  his  mule  threw  him,  dislocated 
his  poor  kneepan,  raised  incurable  inflammatory  fever ;  and 
the  poor  old  man  got  his  dismissal  from  the  whole  coil  at 
once.  St.  Thomas  ii  Becket,  though  in  a  circuitous  way,  had 
brought  deliverance  !  Neither  Jew  usurers,  nor  grumbling 
monks,  nor  other  importunate  despicability  of  men  or  mud 
elements  afflicted  Abbot  Hugo  any  more  ;  but  he  dropt  his 
rosaries,  closed  his  account-books,  closed  his  old  eyes,  and 
lay  down  into  the  long  sleep.  Heavy-laden  hoary  old  Do 
minus  Hugo,  fare  thee  well. 

One  thing  we  cannot  mention  without  a  due  thrill  of  hor- 
ror :  namely,  that,  in  the  empty  exchequer  of  Dominus  Hugo, 
there  was  not  found  one  penny  to  distribute  to  the  Poor  that 
they  might  pray  for  his  soul !  By  a  kind  of  godsend,  Fifty 
shillings  did,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  fall  due,  or  seem  to  fall 
due,  from  one  of  his  Farmers  (the  Firmarius  de  Palegrava), 
and  he  paid  it,  and  the  poor  had  it  ;  though,  alas,  this  too 
only  seemed  to  fall  due,  and  we  had  it  to  pay  again  after- 


TWELFTH  CENTURY. 


wards.  Dominus  Hugo's  apartments  were  plundered  by  bis 
servants,  to  tbe  last  portable  stool,  in  a  few  minutes  after  tbe 
breath  was  out  of  his  body.  Forlorn  old  Hugo,  fare  thee 
well  forever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TWELFTH  CENTURY. 

Our  Abbot  being  dead,  the  Dominus  Rex,  Henry  II.,  or  Ra- 
nulf  de  Glanvill  Justiciarius  of  England  for  him,  set  Inspec- 
tors or  Custodiars  over  us  ; — not  in  any  breathless  haste  to 
appoint  a  new  Abbot,  our  revenues  coming  into  his  own  Scac- 
carium,  or  royal  Exchequer,  in  the  meanwhile.  They  pro- 
ceeded with  some  rigour,  these  Custodiars  ;  took  written  in- 
ventories, clapt-on  seals,  exacted  everywhere  strict  tale  and 
measure :  but  wherefore  should  a  living  monk  complain  ?  The 
living  monk  has  to  do  his  devotional  drill-exercise  ;  consume 
his  allotted  pitantia,  what  we  call  pittance,  or  ration  of  victual  ; 
and  possess  his  soul  in  patience. 

Dim,  as  through  a  long  vista  of  Seven  Centuries,  dim  and 
very  strange  looks  that  monk-life  to  us  ;  the  ever- surprising 
circumstance  this,  That  it  is  a  fact  and  no  dream,  that  we  see 
it  there,  and  gaze  into  the  very  eyes  of  it !  Smoke  rises  daily 
from  those  culinary  chimney-throats  ;  there  are  living  human 
beings  there,  who  chant,  loud-braying,  their  matins,  nones, 
vespers ;  awakening  echoes,  not  to  the  bodily  ear  alone.  St. 
Edmund's  Shrine,  perpetually  illuminated,  glows  ruddy 
through  the  Night,  and  through  the  Night  of  Centuries 
withal  ;  St.  Edmundsbury  Town  paying  yearly  Forty  pounds 
for  that  express  end.  Bells  clang  out ;  on  great  occasions, 
all  the  bells.  We  have  Processions,  Preachings,  Festivals, 
Christmas  Plays,  Mysteries  shewn  in  the  Churchyard,  at  which 
latter  the  Townsfolk  sometimes  quarrel.  Time  was,  Time  is, 
as  Friar  Bacon's  Brass  Head  remarked  ;  and  withal  Time  will 
be.  There  are  three  Tenses,  Tempora,  or  Times ;  and  there 
is  one  Eternity  ;  and  as  for  us, 

*  We  are  such  stuff  as  Dreams  are  made  of ! 9 


64 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


Indisputable,  though  very  dim  to  modern  vision,  rests  on 
its  hill-slope  that  same  Bury,  Stow,  or  Town  of  St.  Edmund  ; 
already  a  considerable  place,  not  without  traffic,  nay  manu- 
factures, would  Jocelin  only  tell  us  what.  Jocelin  is  totally 
careless  of  telling  :  but,  through  dim  fitful  apertures,  we  can 
see  Fullones,  'Fullers,'  see  cloth-making;  looms  dimly  going, 
dye-vats,  and  old  women  spinning  yarn.  We  have  Fairs  too, 
Nundince,  in  due  course  ;  and  the  Londoners  give  us  much 
trouble,  pretending  that  they,  as  a  metropolitan  people,  are 
exempt  from  toll.  Besides  there  is  Field-husbandry,  with 
perplexed  settlement  of  Convent  rents  :  corn-ricks  pile  them- 
selves within  burgh,  in  their  season  ;  and  cattle  depart  and 
enter  ;  and  even  the  poor  weaver  has  his  cow,  — '  dungheaps ' 
lying  quiet  at  most  doors  (ante  foras,  says  the  incidental  Joce- 
lin), for  the  Town  has  yet  no  improved  police.  Watch  and 
ward  nevertheless  we  do  keep,  and  have  Gates, — as  what 
Town  must  not ;  thieves  so  abounding  ;  war,  werru,  such  a 
frequent  thing  !  Our  thieves,  at  the  Abbot's  judgment-bar, 
deny  ;  claim  wager  of  battle  ;  fight,  are  beaten,  and  then 
hanged.  'Ketel,  the  thief,'  took  this  course  ;  and  it  did  noth- 
ing for  him, — merely  brought  us,  and  indeed  himself,  aiew 
trouble  ! 

Every  way  a  most  foreign  Time.  What  difficulty,  for  ex- 
ample, has  our  Cellerarius  to  collect  the  repselver,  '  reaping 
silver,'  or  penny,  which  each  householder  is  by  law  bound  to 
pay  for  cutting  down  the  Convent  grain  !  Kicher  people  pre- 
tend that  it  is  commuted,  that  it  is  this  and  the  other ;  that, 
in  short,  they  will  not  pay  it.  Our  Cellerarius  gives  up  call- 
ing on  the  rich.  In  the  houses  of  the  poor,  our  Cellerarius 
finding,  in  like  manner,  neither  penny  nor  good  promise, 
snatches,  without  ceremony,  what  vadium  (pledge,  wad)  he 
can  come  at :  a  joint-stool,  kettle,  nay  the  very  house-door, 
'  hostium  ; '  and  old  women,  thus  exposed  to  the  unfeeling 
gaze  of  the  public,  rush  out  after  him  with  their  distaffs  and 
the  angriest  shrieks  \  '  vetuloe  exibant  cum  colisuis,'  says  Jocelin, 
4  minantes  et  exprobr  antes' 

What  a  historical  picture,  glowing  visible,  at  St.  Edmund's 
Shrine  by  night,  after  Seven  long  Centuries  or  so  !  VetuliB 


TWELFTH  CENTURY. 


65 


cum  colls :  My  venerable  ancient  spinning  grand  mo  thers, — 
^h,  and  ye  too  have  to  shriek,  and  rash  out  with  your  distaffs ; 
and  become  Female  Chartists,  and  scold  all  evening  with  void 
doorway  ; — and  in  old  Saxon,  as  we  in  modern,  would  fain 
demand  some  Five-point  Charter,  could  it  be  fallen  in  with, 
the  Earth  being  too  tyrannous  ! — Wise  Lord  Abbots,  hearing 
of  such  phenomena,  did  in  time  abolish  or  commute  the  reap- 
penny,  and  one  nuisance  was  abated.  But  the  image  of  these 
justly  offended  old  women,  in  their  old  wool  costumes,  with 
their  angry  features,  and  spindles  brandished,  lives  forever  in 
the  historical  memory.  Thanks  to  thee,  Jocelin  Bos  well.  Jerusa- 
lem was  taken  by  the  Crusaders,  and  again  lost  by  them  ;  and 
Richard  Cceur-de-Lion  '  veiled  his  face  '  as  he  passed  in  sight 
of  it :  but  how  many  other  things  went  on,  the  while  ! 

Thus,  too,  our  trouble  with  the  Lakenheath  eels  is  very 
great.  King  Knut,  namely,  or  rather  his  Queen  who  also  did 
herself  honour  by  honouring  St.  Edmund,  decreed  by  authen- 
tic deed  yet  extant  on  parchment,  that  the  Holders  of  the 
Town  Fields,  once  Beodric's,  should,  for  one  thing,  go  yearly 
and  catch  us  four  thousand  eels  in  the  marsh-pools  of  Laken- 
heath. Well,  they  went,  they  continued  to  go  ;  but,  in  later 
times,  got  into  the  way  of  returning  with  a  most  short  account 
of  eels.  Not  the  due  six-score  apiece  ;  no,  Here  are  two- 
score,  Here  are  twenty,  ten, — sometimes,  Here  are  none  at 
all ;  Heaven  help  us,  we  could  catch  no  more,  they  were  not 
there  !  What  is  a  distressed  Cellerarius  to  do  ?  We  agree 
that  each  Holder  of  so  many  acres  shall  pay  one  penny  yearly, 
and  let  go  the  eels  as  too  slippery.  But  alas,  neither  is  this 
quite  effectual  :  the  Fields,  in  my  time,  have  got  divided 
among  so  many  hands,  there  is  no  catching  of  them  either  ;  I 
have  known  our  Cellarer  get  seven  and  twenty  pence  formerly, 
and  now  it  is  much  if  he  get  ten  pence  farthing  (yix  decern 
denarios  et  obolum).  And  then  their  sheep,  which  they  are 
bound  to  fold  nightly  in  our  pens,  for  the  manure's  sake  ; 
and,  I  fear,  do  not  always  fold  :  and  their  aver-pennies,  and 
their  avragium.s,  and  their  foder-corns,  and  mill-and-market 
dues  !  Thus,  in  its  undeniable  but  dim  manner,  does  old  St. 
Edmundsbury  spin  and  till,  and  laboriously  keep  its  pot  boil- 
5 


66 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


ing,  and  St.  Edmund's  Shrine  lighted,  under  such  conditions 
and  averages  as  it  can. 

How  much  is  still  alive  in  England  ;  how  much  has  not 
yet  come  into  life  !  A  Feudal  Aristocracy  is  still  alive,  in  the 
prime  of  life  ;  superintending  the  cultivation  of  the  land,  and 
less  consciously  the  distribution  of  the  produce  of  the  land, 
the  adjustment  of  the  quarrels  of  the  land  ;  judging,  soldier- 
ing, adjusting  ;  everywhere  governing  the  people, — so  that 
even  a  Gurth,  born  thrall  of  Cedric,  lacks  not  his  due  parings 
of  the  pigs  he  tends.  Governing  ; — and,  alas,  also  game -pre- 
serving, so  that  a  Eobert  Hood,  a  William  Scarlet  and  others 
have,  in  these  days,  put  on  Lincoln  coats,  and  taken  to  living, 
in  some  universal-suffrage  manner,  under  the  greenwood  tree  ! 

How  silent,  on  the  other  hand,  lie  all  Cotton-trades  and 
such  like  ;  not  a  steeple-chimney  yet  got  on  end  from  sea  to 
sea !  North  of  the  Humber,  a  stern  Willelmus  Conquestor 
burnt  the  Country,  finding  it  unruly,  into  very  stern  repose. 
Wild  fowl  scream  in  those  ancient  silences,  wild  cattle  roam 
la  those  ancient  solitudes  ;  the  scanty  sulky  Norse-bred  popu- 
lation all  coerced  into  silence, — feeling  that,  under  these  new 
Norman  Governors,,  their  history  has  probably  as  good  as 
ended.  Men  and  Northumbrian  Norse  populations  know  little 
what  has  ended,  what  is  but  beginning  !  The  Eibble  and  the 
Aire  roll  down,  as  yet  unpolluted  by  dyers'  chemistry  ;  ten- 
anted by  merry  trouts  and  piscatory  otters  :  the  sunbeam  and 
the  vacant  winds-blast  alone  traversing  those  moors.  Side 
by  side  sleep  the  coal-strata  and  the  iron-strata  for  so  many 
ages ;  no  Steam-Demon  has  yet  risen  smoking  into  being. 
Saint  Mungo  rules  in  Glasgow  ;  James  Watt  still  slumbering 
in  the  deep  of  Time.  Mancunium,  Manceaster,  what  we  now 
call  Manchester,  spins  no  cotton, — if  it  be  not  wool  1  cottons,' 
clipped  from  the  backs  of  mountain-sheep.  The  Creek  of  the 
Mersey  gurgles,  twice  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours,  with 
eddying  brine,  clangorous  with  sea-fowl ;  and  is  a  Lither-¥oo\, 
a  lazy  or  sullen  Pool,  no  monstrous  pitchy  City,  and  Seahaven 
of  the  world  !  The  Centuries  are  big  ;  and  the  birth-hour  is 
coming,  not  yet  come.    Tempus  ferax,  tempus  edax  return. 


MONK  SAMSON. 


67 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MONK  SAMSON. 

Within  doors,  down  at  the  hill-foot,  in  our  Convent  here, 
we  are  a  peculiar  people, — hardly  conceivable  in  the  Arkwright 
Corn-Law  ages,  of  mere  Spinning-Mills  and  Joe-Mantons  I 
There  is  yet  no  Methodism  among  us,  and  we  speak  much  of 
Secularities :  no  Methodism  ;  our  Religion  is  not  yet  a  hoi> 
rible  restless  Doubt,  still  less  a  far  horribler  composed  Cant ; 
but  a  great  heaven-high  Unquestionability,  encompassing, 
interpenetrating  the  whole  of  Life.  Imperfect  as  we  may  be, 
we  are  here,  with  our  litanies,  shaven  crowns,  vows  of  poverty, 
to  testify  incessantly  and  indisputably  to  every  heart,  That 
this  Earthly  Life^  and  its  riches  and  possessions,  and  good  and 
evil  hap,  are  not  intrinsically  a  reality  at  all,  but  are  a  shadow 
of  realities  eternal,  infinite  ;  that  this  Time-world,  as  an  air- 
image,  fearfully  emblematic,  plays  and  flickers  in  the  grand 
still  mirror  of  Eternity  ;  and  man's  little  Life  has  Duties  that 
are  great,  that  are  alone  great,  and  go  up  to  Heaven  and  down 
to  Hell.  This,  with  our  poor  litanies,  wTe  testify  and  struggle 
to  testify. 

Which,  testified  or  not,  remembered  by  all  men,  or  for- 
gotten by  all  men,  does  verily  remain  the  fact,  even  in 
Arkwright  Joe-Manton  ages !  But  it  is  incalculable,  when 
litanies  have  grown  obsolete ;  when  fodercorns,  avragiums, 
and  all  human  dues  and  reciprocities  have  been  fully  changed 
into  one  great  due  of  cash  payment ;  and  man's  duty  to  man 
reduces  itself  to  handing  him  certain  metal  coins,  or  cove- 
nanted money- wages,  and  then  shoving  him  out  of  doors  ; 
and  man's  duty  to  God  becomes  a  cant,  a  doubt,  a  dim  in- 
anity, a  c  pleasure  of  virtue '  or  such  like  ;  and  the  thing 
a  man  does  infinitely  fear  (the  real  Hell  of  a  man)  is  c  that 
•  he  do  not  make  money  and  advance  himself,' — I  say,  it 
is  incalculable  what  a  change  has  introduced  itself  every- 
where into  human  affairs  !  How  human  affairs  shall  now  cir- 
culate everywhere  not  healthy  life-blood  in  them,  but,  as  it 


68 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


were,  a  detestable  copperas  banker's  ink  ;  and  all  is  grown 
acrid,  divisive,  threatening  dissolution  ;  and  the  huge,  tumultu- 
ous Life  of  Society  is  galvanic,  devil-ridden,  too  truly  pos- 
sessed by  a  devil !  For,  in  short,  Mammon  is  not  a  god  at 
all  ;  but  a  devil,  and  even  a  very  despicable  devil.  Follow 
the  Devil  faithfully,  you  are  sure  enough  to  go  to  the  Devil : 
whither  else  can  you  go  ? — In  such  situations,  men  look  back 
with  a  kind  of  mournful  recognition  even  on  poor  limited 
Monk-figures,  with  their  poor  litanies  ;  and  reflect,  with  Ben 
Jonson,  that  soul  is  indispensable,  some  degree  of  soul,  even 
to  save  you  the  expense  of  salt ! — 

For  the  rest,  it  must  be  owned,  we  Monks  of  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  are  but  a  limited  class  of  creatures,  and  seem  to  have  a 
somewhat  dull  life  of  it.  Much  given  to  idle  gossip  ;  having 
indeed  no  other  work,  when  our  chanting  is  over.  Listless 
gossip,  for  most  part,  and  a  mitigated  slander ;  the  fruit  of 
idleness,  not  of  spleen.  We  are  dull,  insipid  men,  many  of 
us  ;  easy-minded  ;  whom  prayer  and  digestion  of  food  will 
avail  for  a  life.  We  have  to  receive  all  strangers  in  our  Con- 
vent, and  lodge  them  gratis  ;  such  and  such  sorts  go  by  rule 
to  the  Lord  Abbot  and  his  special  revenues  ;  such  and  such 
to  us  and  our  poor  Cellarer,  however  straitened.  Jews  then> 
selves  send  their  wives  and  little  ones  hither  in  war-time,  into 
our  Pitanceria  ;  where  they  abide  safe,  with  due  pittances, — 
for  a  consideration.  We  have  the  fairest  chances  for  collect- 
ing news.  Some  of  us  have  a  turn  for  reading  Books ;  for 
meditation,  -silence  ;  at  times  we  even  write  Books.  Some  of 
us  can  preach,  in  English-Saxon,  in  Norman-French,  and  even 
in  Monk-Latin ;  others  cannot  in  any  language  or  jargon, 
being  stupid. 

Failing  all  else,  what  gossip  about  one  another  !  This  is  a 
perennial  resource.  How  one  hooded  head  applies  itself  to 
the  ear  of  another  and  whispers — tacenda.  Willelmus  Sacrista, 
for  instance,  what  does  he  nightly,  over  in  that  Sacristry  of 
his?  Frequent  bibations,  'frequentes  hibationes  et  qucedam 
tacenda/ — eheu  !  We  have  6  iempora  minutionis,  stated  sea- 
sons of  blood-letting,  when  we  are  all  let  blood  together  ;  and 
then  there  is  a  general  free-conference,  a  sanhedrim  of  clatter. 


MONK  SAMSON 


69 


'Notwithstanding  our  vow  of  poverty,  we  can  by  rule  amass  to 
the  extent  of  '  two  shillings  ; '  but  it  is  to  be  given  to  our 
necessitous  kindred,  or  in  charity.  Poor  Monks !  Thus  too 
a  certain  Canterbury  Monk  was  in  the  habit  of  'slipping, 
clanculo  from  his  sleeve/  five  shillings  into  the  hand  of  his 
mother,  when  she  came  to  see  him,  at  the  divine  offices,  every 
two  months.  Once,  slipping  the  money  clandestinely,  just  in 
the  act  of  taking  leave,  he  slipt  it  not  into  her  hand  but  on 
the  floor,  and  another  had  it ;  whereupon  the  poor  Monk, 
coming  to  know  it,  looked  mere  despair  for  some  days  ;  till 
Lanfrancthe  noble  Archbishop,  questioning  his  secret  from  him, 
nobly  made  the  sum  seven  shillings,*  and  said,  Never  mind! 

One  Monk  of  a  taciturn  nature  distinguishes  himself  among 
these  babbling  ones  :  the  name  of  him  Samson  ;  he  that  an- 
swered Jocelin,  "  Fili  mi,  a  burnt  child  shuns  the  fire."  They 
call  him  'Norfolk  Barrator,'  or  litigious  person;  for  indeed, 
being  of  grave  taciturn  ways,  he  is  not  universally  a  favourite  ; 
he  has  been  in  trouble  more  than  once.  The  reader  is  de- 
sired to  mark  this  Monk.  A  personable  man  of  seven-and- 
forty  ;  stout  made,  stands  erect  as  a  pillar;  with  bushy  eye- 
brows, the  eyes  of  him  beaming  into  you  in  a  really  strange 
way  ;  the  face  massive,  grave,  with  ca  very  eminent  nose;'  his 
head  almost  bald,  its  auburn  remnants  of  hair,  and  the  copi- 
ous ruddy  beard,  getting  slightly  streaked  with  grey.  This 
is  Brother  Samson  :  a  man  worth  looking  at. 

He  is  from  Norfolk,  as  the  nickname  indicates ;  from  Tot- 
tington  in  Norfolk,  as  we  guess  ;  the  son  of  poor  parents  there. 
He  has  told  me,  Jocelin,  for  I  loved  him  much,  That  once  in 
his  ninth  year  he  had  an  alarming  dream  ;  —  as  indeed  we  are 
all  somewhat  given  to  dreaming  here.  Little  Samson,  lying 
uneasily  in  his  crib  at  Tottington,  dreamed  that  he  saw  the 
Arch  Enemy  in  person,  just  alighted  in  front  of  some  grand 
building,  with  outspread  bat-wings,  and  stretching  forth  de- 
testable clawed  hands  to  grip  him,  little  Samson,  and  fly  off 
with  him  :  whereupon  the  little  dreamer  shrieked  desperate 

*  Eadmeri  Hist.  p.  8. 


70 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


to  St.  Edmund  for  help,  shrieked  and  again  shrieked  ;  and  St 
Edmund,  a  reverend  heavenly  figure,  did  oome, — and  indeed 
poor  little  Samson's  mother  awakened  by  his  shrieking,  did 
come  ;  and  the  Devil  and  the  Dream  both  fled  away  fruitless. 
On  the  morrow,  his  mother  pondering  such  an  awful  dream, 
thought  it  were  good  to  take  him  over  to  St.  Edmund's  own 
Shrine,  and  pray  with  him  there.  See,  said  little  Samson  at 
sight  of  the  Abbey-Gate  ;  see,  mother,  this  is  the  building  I 
dreamed  of !  His  poor  mother  dedicated  him  to  St,  Edmund, 
— left  him  there  with  prayers  and  tears  :  what  better  could 
she  do?  The  exposition  of  the  dream,  Brother  Samson  used 
to  say,  was  this  :  Diabolus  with  outspread  bat-wings  shadowed 
forth  the  pleasures  of  this  world,  voluptales  huj us  sceculi,  which 
were  about  to  snatch  and  fly  away  with  me,  had  not  St.  Ed- 
mund flung  his  arms  round  me,  that  is  to  say,  made  me  a 
monk  of  his.  A  monk,  accordingly,  Brother  Samson  is  ;  and 
here  to  this  day  where  his  mother  left  him.  A  learned  man, 
of  devout  grave  nature  ;  has  studied  at  Paris,  has  taught  in 
the  Town  Schools  here,  and  done  much  else  ;  can  preach  in 
three  languages,  and,  like  Dr.  Caius,  *  has  had  losses '  in  his 
time.  A  thoughtful,  firm-standing  man  ;  much  loved  by  some, 
not  loved  by  all ;  his  clear  eyes  flashing  into  you,  in  an  almost 
inconvenient  way ! 

'  Abbot  Hugo,  as  we  said,  had  his  own  difficulties  with  him  ; 
Abbot  Hugo  had  him  in  prison  once,  to  teach  him  what 
authority  was,  and  how  to  dread  the  fire  in  future.  Eor 
Brother  Samson,  in  the  time  of  the  Antipopes,  had  been  sent 
to  Koine  on  business  ;  and,  returning  successful,  was  too  late, 
— the  business  had  all  misgone  in  the  interim  !  As  tours  to 
Borne  are  still  frequent  with  us  English,  perhaps  the  reader 
will  not  grudge  to  look  at  the  method  of  travelling  thither  in 
those  remote  ages.  We  happily  have,  in  small  compass,  a 
personal  narrative  of  it.  Through  the  clear  eyes  and  memory 
of  Brother  Samson,  one  peeps  direct  into  the  very  bosom  of 
that  Twelfth  Century,  and  finds  it  rather  curious.  The  actual 
Papa,  Father,  or  universal  President  of  Christendom,  as  yet 
not  grown  chimerical,  sat  there  ;  think  of  that  only  !  Brother 
Samson  wTent  to  Rome  as  to  the  real  Light-fountain  of  this 


MONK  SAMSON 


71 


lower  world  ;  we  now — ! — But  let  us  hear  Brother  Samson,  as 
to  his  mode  of  travelling  : 

'  You  know  what  trouble  I  had  for  that  Church  of  Wool- 
6  pit ;  how  I  was  despatched  to  Rome  in  the  time  of  the  Schism 
'  between  Pope  Alexander  and  Octavian  ;  and  passed  through 
'  Italy  at  that  season,  when  all  clergy  carrying  letters  for  our 
'  Lord  Pope  Alexander  were  laid  hold  of,  and  some  were 

*  clapt  in  prison,  some  hanged  ;  and  some,  with  nose  and  lips 
'  cut  off,  were  sent  forward  to  our  Lord  the  Pope,  for  the  dis- 
£  grace  and  confusion  of  him  (in  dedecus  el  confusionem  ejus). 
'  I,  however,  pretended  to  be  Scotch,  and  putting  on  the  garb 
'  of  a  Scotchman,  and  taking  the  gesture  of  one,  walked 
'  along  ;  and  when  anybody  mocked  at  me,  I  would  brandish 
'  my  staff  in  the  manner  of  that  weapon  they  call  gaveloc* 
'  uttering  comminatory  words  after  the  way  of  the  Scotch. 
8  To  those  that  met  and  questioned  me  who  I  was,  I  made  no 
£  answer  but  :  Hide,  ride  Rome ;  tame  Cantwereberei.\  Thus 
c  did  I,  to  conceal  myself  and  my  errand,  and  get  safer  to 
'  Rome  under  the  guise  of  a  Scotchman. 

■  Having  at  last  obtained  a  letter  from  our  Lord  the  Pope 
'  according  to  my  washes,  I  turned  homewards  again.  I  had 
'  to  pass  through  a  certain  strong  towm  on  my  road  ;  and  lo, 
'  the  soldiers  thereof  surrounded  me,  seizing  me,  and  saying : 
?  "  This  vagabond  (iste  soli  vagus),  who  pretends  to  be  Scotch, 
1  is»  either  a  spy,  or  has  Letters  from  the  false  Pope  Alex- 
'  ander."  And  whilst  they  examined  every  stitch  and  rag  of 
6  me,  my  leggings  (caligas),  breeches,  and  even  the  old  shoes 

■  that  I  carried  over  my  shoulder  in  the  way  of  the  Scotch, 
e  — I  put  my  hand  into  the  leather  scrip  I  wore,  wherein  our 
'  Lord  the  Pope's  Letter  lay,  close  by  a  little  jug  (ciffus)  I 

*  had  for  drinking  out  of  ;  and  the  Lord  God  so  pleasing,  and 

■  St.  Edmund,  I  got  out  both  the  Letter  and  the  jug  together ; 

*  in  such  a  way  that,  extending  my  arm  aloft,  I  held  the  Let- 

*  Javelin,  missile  pike.     Gaveloc  is  still  the  Scotch  name  for  crowbar. 

f  Does  this  mean,  "Rome  forever;  Canterbury  not"  (which  claims 
an  unjust  Supremacy  over  us)  !  Mr.  Rokewood  is  silent.  Dryasdust 
would  perhaps  explain  it, — in  the  course  of  a  week  or  two  of  talking  ; 
did  one  dare  to  question  him ! 


72 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


4  ter  hidden  between  jug  and  hand  :  they  saw  the  jug,  but  the 
Letter  they  saw  not.  And  thus  I  escaped  out  of  their  hands 
1  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  Whatever  money  I  had  they  took 
f  from  me  ;  wherefore  I  had  to  beg  from  door  to  door,  with- 
£  out  any  payment  (sine  omni  expensa)  till  I  came  to  England 
6  again.  But  hearing  that  the  Woolpit  Church  was  already 
6  given  to  Geoffry  Kidell,  my  soul  was  struck  with  sorrow  bc- 
'  cause  I  had  laboured  in  vain.  Coming  home,  therefore,  I 
6  sat  me  down  secretly  under  the  Shrine  of  St.  Edmund,  fear- 
e  ing  lest  our  Lord  Abbot  should  seize  and  imprison  me, 
'  though  I  had  done  no  mischief  ;  nor  was  there  a  monk  who 
c  durst  speak  to  me,  nor  a  laic  who  durst  bring  me  food  ex- 
'  cept  by  stealth. '  * 

Such  resting  and  welcoming  found  Brother  Samson,  with 
his  worn  soles,  and  strong  heart !  He  sits  silent,  revolving 
many  thoughts,  at  the  foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine.  In  the 
wide  Earth,  if  it  be  not  Saint  Edmund,  what  friend  or  refuge 
has  he  ?  Our  Lord  Abbot,  hearing  of  him,  sent  the  proper 
officer  to  lead  him  down  to  prison,  and  clap  '  foot-gyves  on 
him '  there.  Another  poor  official  furtively  brought  him  a 
cup  of  wine  ;  bade  him  "be  comforted  in  the  Lord."  Sam- 
son utters  no  complaint ;  obeys  in  silence.  £  Our  Lord  Ab- 
bot, taking  counsel  of  it,  banished  me  to  Acre,  and  there  I 
had  to  stay  long.' 

Our  Lord  Abbot  next  tried  Samson  with  promotions  ;  made 
him  Subsacristan,  made  him  Librarian,  which  he  liked  best 
of  all,  being  passionately  fond  of  Books  :  Samson,  with  many 
thoughts  in  him,  again  obeyed  in  silence  ;  discharged  his 
offices  to  perfection,  but  never  thanked  our  Lord  Abbot, — 
seemed  rather  as  if  looking  into  him,  with  those  clear  eyes  of 
his.  Whereupon  Abbot  Hugo  said,  Se  nunquam  vidisse,  He 
had  never  seen  such  a  man  ;  whom  no  severity  would  break 
to  complain,  and  no  kindness  soften  into  smiles  or  thanks  : — 
a  questionable  kind  of  man  ! 

In  this  way,  not  without  troubles,  but  still  in  an  erect  clear- 
standing  manner,  has  Brother  Samson  reached  his  forty* 

*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  S6. 


THE  CANVASSING. 


73 


seventh  year  ;  and  his  ruddy  beard  is  getting  slightly  grizzled. 
He  is  endeavouring,  in  these  days,  to  have  various  broken 
things  thatched  in  ;  nay  perhaps  to  have  the  Choir  itself  com- 
pleted, for  he  can  bear  nothing  ruinous.  He  has  gathered 
'heaps  of  lime  and  sand;'  has  masons,  slaters  working,  he 
and  Warinus  monachus  nosier,  who  are  joint  keepers  of  the 
Shrine  ;  paying  out  the  money  duly,— furnished  by  charitable 
burghers  of  St.  Edmundsbury,  they  say.  Charitable  burghers 
of  St.  Edmundsbury?  To  me  Jocelin  it  seems  rather,  Sam- 
son, and  Warinus  whom  he  leads,  have  privily  hoarded  the 
oblations  at  the  Shrine  itself,  in  these  late  years  of  indolent 
dilapidation,  while  Abbot  Hugo  sat  wrapt  inaccessible  ;  and 
are  struggling,  in  this  prudent  way,  to  have  the  rain  kept 
out !  * — Under  what  conditions,  sometimes,  has  Wisdom  to 
struggle  with  Folly ;  get  Folly  persuaded  to  so  much  as 
thatch  out  the  rain  from  itself !  For,  indeed,  if  the  Infant 
govern  the  Nurse,  what  dexterous  practice  on  the  Nurse's  part 
will  not  be  necessary. 

It  is  a  new  regret  to  us  that,  in  these  circumstances,  our 
Lord  the  King's  Custodiars,  interfering,  prohibited  all  build- 
ing or  thatching  from  whatever  source  ;  and  no  Choir  shall  be 
completed,  and  Rain  and  Time,  for  the  present,  shall  have 
their  way.  W'illelmus  Sacrista,  he  of  '  the  frequent  bibations 
and  some  things  not  to  be  spoken  of ; '  he,  with  his  red  nose, 
I  am  of  opinion,  had  made  complaint  to  the  Custodiars  ;  wish- 
ing to  do  Samson  an  ill  turn  : — Samson  his  >SV<6sacristan,  with 
those  clear  eyes,  could  not  be  a  prime  favourite  of  his  !  Sam- 
son again  obeys  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CANVASSING. 

Now,  however,  come  great  news  to  St.  Edmundsbury  :  That 
there  is  to  be  an  Abbot  elected  ;  that  our  interlunar  obscura- 
tion is  to  cease  ;  St.  Edmund's  Convent  no  more  to  be  a  dole- 
ful widow,  but  joyous  and  once  again  a  bride  !  Often  in  our 
widowed  state  had  we  prayed  to  the  Lord  and  St.  Edmund, 
*  Joceliiii  Chronica,  p.  7. 


74 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


singing  weekly  a  matter  of  '  one  -  and  -  twenty  penitential 
Psalms,  on  our  knees  in  the  Choir/  that  a  fit  Pastor  might  be 
vouchsafed  us.  And,  says  Jocelin,  had  some  known  what 
Abbot  we  were  to  get,  they  had  not  been' so  devout,  I  believe  ! 
— Bozzy  Jocelin  opens  to  mankind  the  floodgates  of  authentic 
Convent  gossip  ;  we  listen,  as  in  a  Dionysius'  Ear,  to  the 
inanest  hubbub,  like  the  voices  at  Virgil's  Horn-Gate  of 
Dreams.  Even  gossip,  seven  centuries  off,  has  significance. 
List,  list,  how  like  men  are  to  one  another  in  all  centuries  ; 

'  Dixit  quidcnn  de  quodam,  a  certain  person  said  of  a  certain 
'  person,  "  He,  that  Frater,  is  a  good  monk, probabilis  persona; 
'  knows  much  of  the  order  and  customs  of  the  church ;  and 
'  though  not  so  perfect  a  philosopher  as  some  others,  would 
'make  a  very  good  Abbot.  Old  Abbot  Orcling,  still  famed 
'  among  us,  knew  little  of  letters.  Besides,  as  we  read  in  Fables, 
'  it  is  better  to  choose  a  log  for  king,  than  a  serpent  never  so 
'wise,  that  will  venomously  hiss  and  bite  his  subjects." — "Im- 
'  possible  !  "  answered  the  other  :  "How  can  such  a  man  make 

*  a  sermon  in  the  Chapter,  or  to  the  people  on  festival  days, 
'  when  he  is  without  letters  ?  How  can  he  have  the  skill 
£  to  bind  and  to  loose,  he  who  does  not  understand  the  Script- 
ures? How—?"' 

And  then  '  another  said  of  another,  alius  de  alio,  "  That 
£  Frater  is  a  homo  literatus,  eloquent,  sagacious ;  vigorous  in 
'  discipline  ;  loves  the  Convent  much,  has  suffered  much  for 
'its  sake."  To  which  a  third  party  answers,  "From  all  your 
'  great  clerks  good  Lord  deliver  us  !  From  Norfolk  barrators, 
'  and  surly  persons,  That  it  would  please  thee  to  preserve  us, 

*  We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us,  good  Lord  !  "  Then  another 
'  quidam  said  of  another  quodam,  "  That  Frater  is  a  good 
'  manager  (husebondus)  ; "  but  was  swiftly  answered,  "  God 
'  forbid  that  a  man  who  can  neither  read  nor  chant,  nor  cele- 
'brate  the  divine  offices,  an  unjust  person  withal,  and  grinder 
'  of  the  faces  of  the  poor,  should  ever  be  Abbot !  " '  One  man, 
it  appears,  is  nice  in  his  victuals.  Another  is  indeed  wise  ; 
but  apt  to  slight  inferiors  ;  hardly  at  the  pains  to  answer,  if 
they  argue  with  him  too  foolishly.  And  so  each  aliquin  con- 
cerning his  aliquo, — through  whole  pages  of  electioneering 


THE  CANVASSING. 


75 


babble.  'For,'  says  Jocelin,  'So  many  men,  so  many  minds/ 
Our  Monks,  'at  time  of  blood-letting,  tempore  minutionis,' 
holding  their  sanhedrim  of  babble,  would  talk  in  this  manner  : 
Brother  Samson,  I  remarked,  never  said  anything  ;  sat  silent, 
sometimes  smiling ;  but  he  took  good  note  of  what  others 
said,  and  would  bring  it  up,  on  occasion,  twenty  years  after. 
As  for  me  Jocelin,  I  was  of  opinion  that  'some  skill  in  Dia- 
lectics, to  distinguish  true  from  false,5  would  be  good  in  an 
Abbot,  I  spake  as  a  rash  Novice  in  those  days,  some  con- 
scientious words  of  a  certain  benefactor  of  mine  ;  '  and  behold, 
one  of  those  sons  of  Belial '  ran  and  reported  them  to  him,  so 
that  he  never  after  looked  at  me  with  the  same  face  again  ! 
Poor  Bozzy ! — 

Such  is  the  buzz  and  frothy  simmering  ferment  of  the 
general  mind  and  no-mind  ;  struggling  to  cmake  itself  up/  as 
the  phrase  is,  or  ascertain  what  it  does  really  want ;  no  easy 
matter,  in  most  cases.  St.  Edmundsbury,  in  that  Candlemas 
season  of  the  year  1182,  is  a  busily  fermenting  place.  The 
very  clothmakers  sit  meditative  at  their  looms ;  asking,  Who 
shall  be  Abbot  ?  The  sochemanni  speak  of  it,  driving  their  ox- 
teams  afield  ;  the  old  women  with  their  spindles :  and  none 
yet  knows  what  the  days  will  bring  forth. 

The  Prior,  however,  as  our  interim  chief,  must  proceed  to 
work ;  get  ready  '  Twelve  Monks,'  and  set  off  with  them  to  his 
Majesty  at  Waltham,  there  shall  the  election  be  made.  An 
election,  whether  managed  directly  by  ballot-box  on  public 
hustings,  or  indirectly  by  force  of  public  opinion,  or  were  it 
even  by  open  alehouses,  landlords'  coercion,  popular  club-law, 
or  whatever  electoral  methods,  is  always  an  interesting  phe- 
nomenon. A  mountain  tumbling  in  great  travail,  throwing  up 
dustclouds  and  absurd  noises,  is  visibly  there  ;  uncertain  yet 
what  mouse  or  monster  it  will  give  birth  to. 

Besides  it  is  a  most  important  social  act  ;  nay,  at  bottom, 
the  one  important  social  act.  Given  the  men  a  People  choose, 
the  People  itself,  in  its  exact  worth  and  worthlessness,  is  given. 
A  heroic  people  chooses  heroes,  and  is  happy  ;  a  valet  or  flun- 
key people  chooses  sham-heroes,  what  are  called  quacks,  think- 


70 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


ing  them  heroes,  and  is  not  happy.    The  grand  summary  of  a 
man's  spiritual  condition,  what  brings  out  all  his  herohood  aiu1 
insight,  or  all  his  nunkeyhood  and  horn-eyed  dimness,  is  tin 
question  put  to  him,  What  man  dost  thou  honour  ?    Which  i 
thy  ideal  of  a  man  ;  or  nearest  that  ?    So  too  of  a  People  :  fo 
a  People  too,  every  People,  speaks  its  choice, — were  it  only  b 
silently  obeying,  and  not  revolting, — in  the  course  of  a  century 
or  so.    Nor  are  electoral  methods,  Reform  Bills  and  such  like- 
unimportant.    A  People's  electoral  methods  are,  in  the  long 
run,  the  express  image  of  its  electoral  talent;  tending  an 
gravitating  perpetually,  irresistibly,  to  a  conformity  with  that 
and  are,  at  all  stages,  very  significant  of  the  People.  Judi 
cious  readers,  of  these  times,  are  not  disinclined  to  see  ho 
Monks  elect  their  Abbot  in  the  Twelfth  Century  :  how  the  St 
Edmundsbury  mountain  manages  its  midwifery;   and  wha 
mouse  or  man  the  outcome  is. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  ELECTION. 

Accordingly  our  Prior  assembles  us  in  Chapter  ;  and,  we 
adjuring  him  before  God  to  do  justly,  nominates,  not  by  our 
selection,  yet  with  our  assent,  Twelve  Monks,  moderately  satis 
factory.    Of  whom  are  Hugo  Third-Prior,  Brother  Dennis 
venerable  man,  Walter  the  Medicus,  Samson  Subsacrista,  an 
other  esteemed  characters, — though  WTillelmus  Sacrista,  of  the 
red  nose,  too  is  one.    These  shall  proceed  straightway  to  Walt- 
ham  ;  and  there  elect  the  Abbot  as  they  may  and  can.  Monks 
are  sworn  to  obedience  ;  must  not  speak  too  loud,  under  pen- 
alty  of  foot-gyves,  limbo,  and  bread  and  water  :  yet  monks  too 
would  know  what  it  is  they  are  obeying.    The  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  Community  has  no  hustings,  ballot-box,  indeed  no  open 
voting  :  yet  by  various  vague  manipulations,  pulse-feelings, 
we  struggle  to  ascertain  what  its  virtual  aim  is,  and  succeed 
better  or  worse. 

This  question,  however,  rises  ;  alas,  a  quite  preliminary  ques 
tion  :  Will  the  Dominus  Rex  allow  us  to  choose  freely  ?    It  i 


THE  ELECTION. 


77 


to  be  hoped  !  Well,  if  so,  we  agree  to  choose  one  of  our  own 
Convent.  If  not,  if  the  Dominus  Rex  will  force  a  stranger  on 
us,  we  decide  on  demurring,  the  Prior  and  his  Twelve  shall 
demur  :  we  can  appeal,  plead,  remonstrate  ;  appeal  even  to 
the  Pope,  but  trust  it  will  not  be  necessary.  Then  there  is 
this  other  question,  raised  by  Brother  Samson  :  What  if  the 
Thirteen  should  not  themselves  be  able  to  agree  ?  Brother 
Samson  Subsacrista,  one  remarks,  is  ready  oftenest  with  some 
question,  some  suggestion,  that  has  wisdom  in  it.  Though  a 
servant  of  servants,  and  saying  little,  his  words  all  tell,  having 
sense  in  them  ;  it  seems  by  his  light  mainly  that  we  steer  our- 
selves in  this  great  dimness. 

What  if  the  Thirteen  should  not  themselves  be  able  to  agree  ? 
Speak,  Samson,  and  advise.  — Could  not,  hints  Samson,  Six  of 
oar  venerablest  elders  be  chosen  by  us,  a  kind  of  electoral 
committee,  here  and  now  :  of  these,  6  with  their  hand  on  the 
Gospels,  with  their  eye  on  the  Sacrosancta,3  we  take  oath  that 
they  will  do  faithfully  ;  let  these,  in  secret  and  as  before  God, 
agree  on  Three  whom  they  reckon  fittest  ;  write  their  names 
in  a  Paper,  and  deliver  the  same  sealed,  forthwith,  to  the 
Thirteen  :  one  of  those  Three  the  Thirteen  shall  fix  on,  if  per- 
mitted. If  not  permitted,  that  is  to  say,  if  the  Dominus  Rex 
force  us  to  demur, — the  Paper  shall  be  brought  back  unop- 
ened, and  publicly  burned,  that  no  man's  secret  bring  him 
into  trouble. 

So  Samson  advises,  so  we  act ;  wisely,  in  this  and  in  other 
crises  of  the  business.    Our  electoral  committee,  its  eye  on 
the  Sacrosancta,  is  soon  named,  soon  sworn ;  and  we  striking  * 
up  the  Fifth  Psalm,  '  Verba  mea, 

'  Give  ear  unto  my  words,  O  Lord, 
My  meditation  weigh,' 

march  out  chanting,  and  leave  the  Six  to  their  work  in  the 
Chapter  here.  Their  work,  before  long,  they  announce  as 
finished  :  they,  with  their  eye  on  the  Sacrosancta,  imprecating 
the  Lord  to  weigh  and  witness  their  meditation,  had  fixed  on 
Three  Names,  and  written  them  in  this  Sealed  Paper.  Let 


78 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Samson  Subsacrista,  general  servant  of  the  party,  take  charge 
of  it.  On  the  morrow  morning,  our  Prior  and  his  Twelve 
will  be  ready  to  get  under  way. 

This  then  is  the  ballot-box  and  electoral  winnowing-ma- 
chine  they  have  at  St.  Edmundsbury  :  a  mind  fixed  on  the 
Thrice  Holy,  an  appeal  to  God  on  high  to  witness  their  medi- 
tation :  by  far  the  best,  and  indeed  the  only  good  electoral 
winnowing-machine, — if  men  have  souls  in  them.  Totally 
worthless,  it  is  true,  and  even  hideous  and  poisonous,  if  men 
have  no  souls.  But  without  soul,  alas,  what  winnowing-ma- 
chine in  human  elections,  can  be  of  avail?  We  cannot  get 
along  without  soul ;  we  stick  fast,  the  mournfullest  spectacle  ; 
and  salt  itself  will  not  save  us  ! 

On  the  morrow  morning,  accordingly,  our  Thirteen  set 
forth  ;  or  rather  our  Prior  and  Eleven  ;  for  Samson,  as  general 
servant  of  the  party,  has  to  linger,  settling  many  things.  At 
length  he  too  gets  upon  the  road ;  and,  £  carrying  the  sealed 
'  Paper  in  a  leather  pouch  hung  round  his  neck  ;  and  froccum 
'  bajulans  in  ulnis'  (thanks  to  thee  Bozzy  Jocelin),  'his  frock- 
'  skirts  looped  over  his  elbow,'  showing  substantial  stern- 
works,  tramps  stoutly  along.  Away  across  the  Heath,  not  yet 
of  Newmarket  and  horse-jockeying  ;  across  your  Fleam -dike 
and  Devil's-dike,  no  longer  useful  as  a  Mercian  East- Anglian 
boundary  or  bulwark  :  continually  towards  Waltham,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Winchester's  House  there,  for  his  Majesty  is  in  that. 
Brother  Samson,  as  purse-bearer,  has  the  reckoning  always, 
when  there  is  one,  to  pay ;  *'  delays  are  numerous,'  progress 
none  of  the  swiftest. 

But,  in  the  solitude  of  the  Convent,  Destiny  thus  big  and 
in  her  birthtime,  what  gossiping,  what  babbling,  what  dream- 
ing of  dreams  !  The  secret  of  the  Three  our  electoral  elders 
alone  know :  some  Abbot  we  shall  have  to  govern  us ;  but 
which  Abbot,  O  which  !  One  monk  discerns  in  a  vision  of  the 
night-watches,  that  we  shall  get  an  Abbot  of  our  own  body, 
without  needing  to  demur :  a  prophet  appeared  to  him  clad 
ail  in  white,  and  said,  <c  Ye  shall  have  one  of  yours,  and  he 
will  rage  among  you  like  a  wolf,  sceviet  ut  lupus"    Verily  ! — 


THE  ELECTION. 


79 


then  which  of  ours?  Another  Monk  now  dreams:  he  has 
seen  clearly  which  ;  a  certain  Figure  taller  by  head  and 
shoulders  than  the  other  two,  dressed  in  alb  and  pallium,  and 
with  the  attitude  of  one  about  to  fight ; — which  tall  Figure  a 
wise  Editor  would  rather  not  name  at  this  stage  of  the  busi- 
ness !  Enough  that  the  vision  is  true  :  that  Saint  Edmund 
himself,  pale  and  awful,  seemed  to  rise  from  his  Shrine,  with 
naked  feet,  and  say  audibly,  "He,  tile,  shall  veil  my  feet;" 
which  part  of  the  vision  also  proves  true.  Such  guessing, 
visioning,  dim  perscrutation  of  the  momentous  future  :  the 
very  clothmakers,  old  women,  all  townsfolk  speak  of  it,  4  and 
}  more  than  once  it  is  reported  in  St.  Edmundsbury,  This  one  is 
c  elected,  and  then,  This  one  and  That  other.'    Who  knows? 

But  now,  sure  enough,  at  Waltham  i  on  the  Second  Sunday 
of  Quadragesima/  which  Dryasdust  declares  to  mean  the  22d 
day  of  February,  year  1182,  Thirteen  St.  Edmundsbury  Monks 
are,  at  last,  seen  processioning  towards  the  "Winchester 
Manorhouse  ;  and  in  some  high  Presence-chamber,  and  Hall 
of  State,  get  access  to  Henry  II.  in  all  his  glory.  What  a 
Hall, — not  imaginary  in  the  least,  but  entirely  real  and  indis- 
putable, though  so  extremely  dim  to  us  ;  sunk  in  the  deep 
distances  of  Night !  The  Winchester  Manorhouse  has  fled 
bodily,  like  a  Dream  of  the  old  Night  ;  not  Dryasdust  himself 
can  shew  a  wreck  of  it.  House  and  people,  royal  and  epis- 
copal, lords,  and  varlets,  where  are  they  ?  Why  there,  I  say, 
Seven  Centuries  off ;  sunk  so  far  in  the  Night,  there  they  are  ; 
peep  through  the  blankets  of  the  Old  Night,  and  thou  wilt 
see  !  King  Henry  himself  is  visibly  there,  a  vivid,  noble- 
looking  man,  with  grizzled  beard,  in  glittering  uncertain 
costume  ;  with  earls  round  him,  and  bishops  and  dignitaries, 
in  the  like.  The  Hall  is  large,  and  has  for  one  thing  an  altar 
near  it — chapel  and  altar  adjoining  it ;  but  what  gilt  seats, 
carved  tables,  carpeting  of  rush-cloth,  what  arras-hangings, 
and  huge  fire  of  logs  : — alas,  it  has  Human  Life  in  it ;  and  is 
not  that  the  grand  miracle,  in  what  hangings  or  costume 
soever  ? — 

The  Dorninus  Bex,  benignantly  receiving  our  Thirteen  with 


80 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


their  obeisance,  and  graciously  declaring  that  he  will  strive  to 
act  for  God's  honour,  and  the  Church's  good,  commands,  '  by 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and  Geoffrey  the  Chancellor/ — 
Galfridus  Cancellarius,  Henry's  and  the  Fair  Rosamond's  au- 
thentic Son  present  here  ! — commands,  "That  they,  the  said 
Thirteen,  do  now  withdraw,  and  fix  upon  Three  from  their 
own  Monastery."  A  work  soon  done  ;  the  Three  hanging- 
ready  round  Samson's  neck,  in  that  leather  pouch  of  his, 
Breaking  the  seal,  we  find  the  names,  — what  think  ye  of  it, 
ye  higher  dignitaries,  thou  indolent  Prior,  thou  Willelmus 
Sacrista  with  the  red  bottle-nose  ? — the  names  in  this  order  : 
of  Samson  Subsaerista,  of  Roger  the  distressed  Cellarer,  of 
Hugo  Tertius- Prior. 

The  higher  dignitaries,  all  omitted  here,  'flush  suddenly 
red  in  the  face  ; '  but  have  nothing  to  say.  One  curious  fact 
and  question  certainly  is,  How  Hugo  Third-Prior,  who  was  of 
the  electoral  committee,  came  to  nominate  himself  as  one  of 
the  Three  ?  A  curious  fact,  which  Hugo  Third-Prior  has 
never  yet  entirely  explained,  that  I  know  of ! — However,  we 
return,  and  report  to  the  King  our  Three  names  ;  merely  alter- 
ing the  order  ;  putting  Samson  last,  as  lowest  of  all.  The 
King,  at  recitation  of  our  Three,  asks  us:  "  Who  are  they  ? 
Were  they  born  in  my  domain  ?  Totally  unknown  to  me  ! 
You  must  nominate  three  others."  Whereupon  Willelmus 
Sacrista  says,  "  Our  Prior  must  be  named,  quia  caput  nostrum 
est,  being  already  our  head."  And  the  Prior  responds,  "  Wil- 
lelmus Sacrista  is  a  fit  man,  bonus  vir  est" — for  all  his  red 
nose.  Tickle  me,  Toby,  and  I'll  tickle  thee  !  Venerable  Den- 
nis too  is  named  ;  none  in  his  conscience  can  say  nay.  There 
are  now  Six  on  our  List.  "Well,"  said  the  King,  "they have 
done  it  swiftly,  they  !  Deus  est  cum  eis."  The  Monks  with- 
draw again  ;  and  Majesty  revolves,  for  a  little,  with  his  Pares 
and  Episcopi,  Lords  or  '  Law-wards  9  and  Soul-Overseers,  the 
thoughts  of  the  royal  breast.  The  Monks  wait  silent  in  an 
outer  room. 

In  short  while,  they  are  next  ordered,  to  add  yet  another 
three  ;  but  not  from  their  own  Convent ;  from  other  Convents, 


THE  ELECTION. 


81 


"for  the  honour  of  my  kingdom."  Here, — what  is  to  be 
done  here  ?  "We  will  demur,  if  need  be  !  We  do  name  three, 
however,  for  the  nonce  :  the  Prior  of  St.  Faith's,  a  good  Monk 
of  St.  Neot's,  a  good  Monk  of  St.  Alban's  :  good  men  all ;  all 
made  abbots  and  dignitaries  since,  at  this  hour.  There  are 
now  Nine  upon  our  List.  What  the  thoughts  of  the  Dominus 
Rex  may  be  farther  ?  The  Dominus  Rex,  thanking  graciously, 
sends  out  word  that  we  shall  now  strike  off  three.  The  three 
strangers  are  instantly  struck  off.  Willelmus  Sacrista  adds, 
that  he  will  of  his  own  accord  decline, — a  touch  of  grace  and 
respect  for  the  Sacrosancta,  even  in  Willelmus  !  The  King 
then  orders  us  to  strike  off  a  couple  more  ;  then  yet  one  more  : 
Hugo  Third-Prior  goes,  and  Roger  Gellerarius,  and  venerable 
Monk  Dennis  ; — and  now  there  remain  on  our  List  two  only, 
Samson  Subsacrista  and  the  Prior. 

Which  of  these  two  ?  It  wrere  hard  to  say, — by  Monks  who 
may  get  themselves  foot-gyved  and  thrown  into  limbo,  for 
speaking  !  We  humbly  request  that  the  Bishop  of  Winches- 
ter and  Geoffrey  the  Chancellor  may  again  enter,  and  help  us 
to  decide.  "  Which  do  you  want  ?  "  asks  the  Bishop.  Ven- 
erable Dennis  made  a  speech,  'commending  the  persons  of 
£  the  Prior  and  Samson  ;  but  always  in  the  corner  of  his  dis- 
'  course,  in  angulo  sui  sermoms,  brought  Samson  in. '  "  I  see  !  " 
said  the  Bishop  :  "  We  are  to  understand  that  your  Prior  is 
somewhat  remiss  ;  that  you  want  to  have  him  you  call  Sam- 
son for  Abbot/'  "Either  of  them  is  good,"  said  venerable 
Dennis,  almost  trembling  ;  u  but  we  would  have  the  better,  if 
it  pleased  God."  "  Which  of  the  two  do  you  want  ?  "  inquires 
the  Bishop  pointedly.  "  Samson  !  "  answered  Dennis  ;  "Sam- 
son !  "  echoed  all  of  the  rest  that  durst  speak  or  echo  any- 
thing :  and  Samson  is  reported  to  the  King  accordingly.  His 
Majesty,  advising  of  it  for  a  moment,  orders  that  Samson  be 
brought  in  with  the  other  Twelve. 

The  King's  Majesty,  looking  at  us  somewhat  sternly,  then 
says  :  "  You  present  to  me  Samson  ;  I  do  not  know  him  : 
had  it  been  your  Prior,  whom  I  do  know,  I  should  have  ac- 
cepted him  :  however,  I  will  now  do  as  you  wish.  But  have 
a  care  of  yourselves.  By  the  true  eyes  of  God,  per  veros  oculos 
0 


82 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Dei,  if  you  manage  badly,  I  will  be  upon  you  !  "  Samson, 
therefore,  steps  forward,  kisses  the  King's  feet ;  but  swiftly 
rises  erect  again,  swiftly  turns  towards  the  altar,  uplifting 
with  the  other  Twelve,  in  clear  tenor  note,  the  Fifty-first 
Psalm,  '  Miserere  mei  Deus, 

4  After  thy  loving-kindness,  Lord, 
Have  mercy  upon  me  ;  ' 

with  firm  voice,  firm  step  and  head,  no  change  in  his  counte- 
nance whatever.  "  By  God's  eyes,"  said  the  King,  "that 
one,  I  think,  will  govern  the  Abbey  well."  By  the  same  oath 
(charged  to  your  Majesty's  account),  I  too  am  precisely  of  that 
opinion  !  It  is  some  while  since  I  fell  in  with  a  likelier  man 
anywhere  than  this  new  Abbot  Samson.  Long  life  to  him, 
and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him  as  Abbot. 

Thus,  then,  have  the  St.  Edmundsbury  Monks,  without  ex- 
press ballot-box  or  other  good  winnowing-machine,  contrived 
to  accomplish  the  most  important  social  feat  a  body  of  men 
can  do,  to  winnow  out  the  man  that  is  to  govern  them  :  and 
truly  one  sees  not  that,  by  any  winnowing-machine  whatever, 
they  could  have  done  it  better.  O  ye  kind  Heavens,  there  is 
in  every  Nation  and  Community  a  fittest,  a  wisest,  bravest, 
best  ;  whom  could  we  find  and  make  King  over  us,  all  were 
in  very  truth  well  ; — the  best  that  God  and  Nature  had  per- 
mitted us  to  make  it  I  By  what  art  discover  him  ?  Will  the 
Heavens  in  their  pity  teach  us  no  art ;  for  our  need  of  him  is 
great ! 

Ballot-boxes,  Keform  Bills,  winnowing  machines :  all  these 
are  good,  or  are  not  so  good  ; — alas,  brethren,  how  can  these, 
I  say,  be  other  than  inadequate,  be  other  than  failures,  melan- 
choly to  behold  ?  Dim  all  souls  of  men  to  the  divine,  the 
high  and  awful  meaning  of  Human  Worth  and  Truth,  we 
shall  never,  by  all  the  machinery  in  Birmingham,  discover  the 
Tine  and  Worthy.  It  is  written,  cif  we  are  ourselves  valets, 
there  shall  exist  no  hero  for  us  ;  we  shall  not  know  the  hero 
when  we  see  him  ;  '—we  shall  take  the  quack  for  a  hero  ;  and 
cry,  audibly  through  all  ballot-boxes  and  machinery  whatso- 
ever, Thou  art  he  :  be  thou  King  over  us  ! 


ABBOT  SAMSON. 


83 


What  boots  it?  Seek  only  deceitful  Speciosity,  money 
with  gilt  carriages,  '  fame  '  with  newspaper-paragraphs,  what- 
ever name  it  bear,  you  will  find  only  deceitful  Speciosity  ;  god- 
like Reality  will  be  forever  far  from  you.  The  Quack  shall  be 
legitimate  inevitable  King  of  you  ;  no  earthly  machinery  able 
to  exclude  the  Quack.  Ye  shall  be  born  thralls  of  the  Quack, 
and  suffer  under  him,  till  your  hearts  are  near  broken,  and  no 
French  Eevolution  or  Manchester  Insurrection,  or  partial  or 
universal  volcanic  combustions  and  explosions,  never  so  many, 
can  do  more  than  'change  ^he  figure  of  your  Quack  ; '  the  es- 
sence of  him  remaining,  for  a  time  and  times. — "  How  long, 
O  Prophet  ? "  say  some,  with  a  rather  melancholy  sneer. 
Alas,  ye  ^prophetic,  ever  till  this  come  about  :  Till  deep 
misery,  if  nothing  softer  will,  have  driven  you  out  of  your 
Speciosities,  into  your  Sincerities  ;  and  you  find  that  there 
either  is  a  God-like  in  the  world,  or  else  ye  are  an  unintelligible 
madness  ;  that  there  is  a  God,  as  well  as  a  Mammon  and  a 
Devil,  and  a  Genuis  of  Luxuries  and  canting  Dilettantisms 
and  Vain  Shows  !  How  long  that  will  be,  compute  for  your- 
selves.   My  unhappy  brothers  ! — 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ABBOT  SAMSON. 

So  then  the  bells  of  St.  Edmundsbury  clang  out  one  and 
all,  and  in  church  and  chapel  the  organs  go  :  Convent  and 
Town,  and  all  the  west  side  of  Suffolk,  are  in  gala  ;  knights, 
viscounts,  weavers,  spinners,  the  entire  population,  male  and 
female,  young  and  old,  the  very  sockmen  with  their  chubby 
infants, — out  to  have  a  holiday,  and  see  the  Lord  Abbot  ar- 
rive !  And  there  is  c  stripping  barefoot '  of  the  Lord  Abbot 
at  the  Gate,  and  solemn  leading  of  him  in  to  the  High  Altar 
and  Shrine;  with  sudden  'silence  of  all  the  bells  and  organs,' 
as  we  kneel  in  deep  prayer  there  ;  and  again  with  outburst 
of  all  the  bells  and  organs,  and  loud  Te  Deum  from  the  gene- 
ral human  windpipe  ;  and  speeches  by  the  leading  viscount, 
and  giving  of  the  kiss  of  brotherhood  ;  the  whole  wound  up 


84 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


with  popular  games,  and  dinner  within  doors  of  more  than 
a  thousand  strong,  plus  quam  milie  comederdibus  in  gaudio 
magno. 

In  such  manner  is  the  selfsame  Samson  once  again  return- 
ing to  us,  welcomed  on  this  occasion.  He  that  went  away 
with  his  frock-skirts  looped  over  his  arm,  conies  back  riding 
high  ;  suddenly  made  one  of  the  dignitaries  of  this  world. 
Reflective  readers  will  admit  that  here  was  a  trial  for  a  man. 
Yesterday  a  poor  mendicant,  allowed  to  possess  not  above  two 
shillings  of  money,  and  without  authority  to  bid  a  dog  run 
for  him,  this  man  to-day  finds  himself  a  Dominus  Abbas, 
mitred  Peer  of  Parliament,  Lord  of  manorhouses,  farms, 
manors,  and  wide  lands  ;  a  man  with  £  Fifty  Knights  under 
him,'  and  dependent,  swiftly  obedient  multitudes  of  men. 
It  is  a  change  greater  than  Napoleon's  ;  so  sudden  withal. 
As  if  one  of  the  Chandos  day  drudges  had,  on  awakening 
some  morning,  found  that  he  overnight  was  become  Duke  ! 
Let  Samson  with  his  clear-beaming  eyes  see  into  that,  and 
discern  it  if  he  can,  "We  shall  now  get  the  measure  of  him 
by  a  new  scale  of  inches,  considerably  more  rigorous  than  the 
former  was.  ♦  For  if  a  noble  soul  is  rendered  tenfold  beauti- 
fuller  by  victory  and  prosperity,  springing  now  radiant  as 
into  his  own  due  element  and  sun-throne  ;  an  ignoble  one 
is  rendered  tenfold  and  hundredfold  uglier,  pitifuller.  What- 
soever vices,  whatsoever  weaknesses  were  in  the  man,  the 
parvenu  will  shew  us  them  enlarged,  as  in  the  solar  micro- 
scope, into  frightful  distortion.  Nay,  how  many  mere  semi- 
nal principles  of  vice,  hitherto  a]l  wholesomely  kept  latent, 
may  we  now  see  unfolded,  as  in  the  solar  hothouse,  into 
growth,  into  huge  universally-conspicuous  luxuriance  and  de- 
velopment ! 

But  is  not  this,  at  any  rate,  a  singular  aspect  of  what  polit- 
ical and  social  capabilities,  nay  let  us  say  what  depth  and 
opulence  of  true  social  vitality,  lay  in  those  old  barbarous 
ages,  That  the  fit  Governor  could  be  met  with  under  such 
disguises,  could  be  recognised  and  laid  hold  of  under  such  ? 
Here  he  is  discovered  with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings  in 


ABBOT  SAMSON. 


85 


his  pocket,  and  a  leather  scrip  round  his  neck ;  trudging 
along  the  highway,  his  frock-skirts  looped  over  his  arm. 
They  think  this  is  he  nevertheless,  the  true  Governor ;  and 
he  proves  to  be  so.  Brethren,  have  we  no  need  of  discover- 
ing true  Governors,  but  will  sham  ones  forever  do  for  us  ? 
These  were  absurd  superstitious  blockheads  of  Monks  ;  and 
we  are  enlightened  Tenpound  Franchisers,  without  taxes  on 
knowledge  !  "Where,  I  say,  are  our  superior,  are  our  similar 
or  at  all  comparable  discoveries  ?  We  also  have  eyes,  or 
ought  to  have  ;  we  have  hustings,  telescopes ;  we  have  lights, 
link-lights  and  rush-lights  of  an  enlightened  free  Press,  burn- 
ing and  dancing  everywhere,  as  in  a  universal  torch-dance  ; 
singeing  your  whiskers  as  you  traverse  the  public  thorough- 
fares in  town  and  country.  Great  souls,  true  Governors,  go 
about  under  all  manner  of  disguises  now  as  then.  Such  tele- 
scopes, such  enlightenment,— and  such  discovery  !  How 
comes  it,  I  say  ;  how  comes  it  ?  Is  it  not  lamentable  ;  is  it 
not  even,  in  some  sense,  amazing  ? 

Alas,  the  defect,  as  we  must  often  urge  and  again  urge,  is 
less  a  defect  of  telescopes  than  of  some  eyesight.  Those  super- 
stitious blockheads  of  the  Twelfth  Century  had  no  telescopes, 
but  they  had  still  an  eye  ;  not  ballot-boxes  ;  only  reverence  for 
Worth,  abhorrence  of  "On worth".  It  is  the  way  with  all  bar- 
barians. Thus  Mr.  Sale  informs  me,  the  old  Arab  Tribes 
would  gather  in  liveliest  gaudeamus,  and  sing,  and  kindle 
bonfires,  and  wreathe  crowns  of  honour,  and  solemnly  thank 
the  gods  that,  in  their  Tribe  too,  a  Poet  had  shewn  himself. 
As  indeed  they  well  might  ;  for  what  usefuller,  I  say  not 
nobler  and  heavenlier  thing  could  the  gods,  doing  their  very 
kindest,  send  to  any  Tribe  or  Nation,  in  any  time  or  circum- 
stances ?  I  declare  to  thee,  my  afflicted  quack-ridden  broth- 
er, in  spite  of  thy  astonishment,  it  is  very  lamentable  !  We 
English  find  a  Poet,  as  brave  a  man  as  has  been  made  for  a 
hundred  years  or  so  anywhere  under  the  Sun  ;  and  do  we 
kindle  bonfires,  or  thank  the  gods?  Not  at  all.  We,  tak- 
ing due  counsel  of  it,  set  the  man  to  gauge  ale-barrels  in 
the  Burgh  of  Dumfries  ;  and  pique  ourselves  on  our  '  patron- 
age of  genius/ 


86 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Genius,  Poet:  do  we  know  what  these  words  mean?  An 
inspired  Soul  once  more  vouchsafed  us,  direct  from  Nature's 
own  great  fire-heart,  to  see  the  Truth,  and  speak  it,  and  do  it ; 
Nature's  own  sacred  voice  heard  once  more  athwart  the 
dreary  boundless  element  of  hearsaying  and  canting,  of 
twaddle  and  poltroonery,  in  which  the  bewildered  Earth,  nigh 
perishing,  has  lost  its  way.  Hear  once  more,  ye  bewildered 
benighted  mortals  ;  listen  once  again  to  a  voice  from  the  in- 
ner Light-sea  and  Flame-sea,  Nature's  and  Truth's  own  heart ; 
know  the  Fact  of  your  Existence  what  it  is,  put  away  the 
Cant  of  it  which  it  is  not ;  and  knowing,  do,  and  let  it  be  well 
with  you  ! — 

George  the  Third  is  Defender  of  something  we  call  '  the 
Faith '  in  those  years ;  George  the  Third  is  head  charioteer  of 
the  Destinies  of  England,  to  guide  them  through  the  gulf  of 
French  Revolutions,  American  Independence  ;  and  Robert 
Burns  is  Gauger  of  ale  in  Dumfries.  It  is  an  Iliad  in  a  nut- 
shell. The  physiognomy  of  a  world  now  verging  towards  dis- 
solution, reduced  now  to  spasms  and  death-throes,  lies  pic- 
tured in  that  one  fact, — which  astonishes  nobody,  except  at 
me  for  being  astonished  at  it.  The  fruit  of  long  ages  of  con- 
firmed Valethood,  entirely  confirmed  as  into  a  Law  of  Nature  ; 
cloth- worship  and  quack-worship  :  entirely  confirmed  Valet- 
hood,— which  will  have  to  imconfirm  itself  again  ;  God  knows, 
with  difficulty  enough  ! — ■ 

Abbot  Samson  had  found  a  Convent  all  in  dilapidation  ; 
rain  beating  through  it,  material  rain  and  metaphorical,  from 
all  quarters  of  the  compass.  Willelmus  Sacrista  sits  drinking 
nightly,  and  doing  mere  tacenda.  Our  larders  are  reduced  to 
leanness,  Jew  Harpies  and  unclean  creatures  our  purveyors  ; 
in  our  basket  is  no  bread.  Old  women  with  their  distaffs 
rush  out  on  a  distressed  Cellarer  in  shrill  Chartism.  *  You 
cannot  stir  abroad  but  Jews  and  Christians  pounce  upon  you 
with  unsettled  bonds  ;  '  debts  boundless  seemingly  as  the 
National  Debt  of  England.  For  four  years  our  new  Lord 
Abbot  never  went  abroad  but  Jew  creditors  and  Christian, 
and  all  manner  of  creditors,  were  about  him    driving  him  to 


ABBOT  SAMSON. 


87 


very  despair.  Our  Prior  is  remiss  ;  our  Cellarers,  officials  are 
remiss,  our  monks  are  remiss  :  what  man  is  not  remiss  ? 
Front  this,  Samson,  thou  alone  art  there  to  front  it ;  it  is  thy 
task  to  front  and  fight  this,  and  to  die  or  kill  it.  May  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  thee ! 

To  our  antiquarian  interest  in  poor  Jocelin  and  his  Convent, 
where  the  whole  aspect  of  existence,  the  whole  dialect,  of 
thought,  of  speech,  of  activity,  is  sq.  obsolete,  strange,  long- 
vanished,  there  now  superadds  itself  a  mild  glow  of  human 
interest  for  Abbot  Samson ;  a  real  pleasure,  as  at  sight  of 
man's  work,  especially  of  governing-,  which  is  man's  highest 
work,  done  well.  Abbot  Samson  had  no  experience  in  govern- 
ing ;  had  served  no  apprenticeship  to  the  trade  of  governing, 
— alas,  only  the  hardest  apprenticeship  to  that  of  obeying. 
He  had  never  in  any  court  given  vadium  or  plegium,  says 
Jocelin  ;  hardly  ever  seen  a  court,  when  he  was  set  to  preside 
in  one.  But  it  is  astonishing,  continues  Jocelin,  how  soon  he 
learned  the  ways  of  business ;  and,  in  all  sort  of  affairs,  be- 
came expert  beyond  others.  Of  the  many  persons  offering 
him  their  service  c  he  retained  one  Knight  skilled  in  taking 
vadia  and  plegia ; '  and  within  the  year  was  himself  well 
skilled.  Nay,  by  and  by,  the  Pope  appoints  him  Justiciary 
in  certain  causes  ;  the  King  one  of  his  new  Circuit  Judges  : 
official  Osbert  is  heard  saying,  "  That  Abbot  is  one  of  your 
shrewd  ones,  disputator  est ;  if  he  go  on  as  he  begins,  he  will 
cut  out  every  lawyer  of  us  !  "  * 

Why  not  ?  "What  is  to  hinder  this  Samson  from  governing  ? 
There  is  in  him  what  far  transcends  all  apprenticeships  ;  in 
the  man  himself  there  exists  a  model  of  governing,  something 
to  govern  by !  There  exists  in  him  a  heart-abhorrence  of  what- 
ever is  incoherent,  pusillanimous,  unveracious,  that  is  to  say, 
chaotic,  ^governed  ;  of  the  Devil,  not  of  God.  A  man  of  this 
kind  cannot  help  governing  !  He  has  the  living  ideal  of  a  gov- 
ernor in  him  ;  and  the  incessant  necessity  of  struggling  to  un- 
fold the  same  out  of  him.  Not  the  Devil  or  Chaos,  for  any 
wages,  will  he  serve  ;  no,  this  man  is  the  born  servant  of  An- 
other than  them.  Alas,  how  little  avail  all  apprenticeships, 
*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  25. 


88 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


when  there  is  in  your  governor  himself  what  we  may  well  call 
nothing  to  govern  by  ; — a  general  grey  twilight,  looming  with 
shapes  of  expediencies,  parliamentary  traditions,  division-lists, 
election -funds,  leadin g- articles  ;  this,  with  what  of  vulpine 
alertness  and  adroitness  soever,  is  not  much ! 

But  indeed  what  say  we,  apprenticeship?  Had  not  this  Sam- 
son served,  in  his  way,  a  right  good  apprenticeship  to  govern- 
ing ;  namely,  the  harshest  slave-apprenticeship  to  obeying ! 
Walk  this  world  with  no  friend  in  it  but  God  and  St.  Edmund, 
you  will  either  fall  into  the  ditch,  or  learn  a  good  many  things. 
To  learn  obeying  is  the  fundamental  art  of  governing.  How 
much  would  many  a  Serene  Highness  have  learned,  had  he 
travelled  through  the  world  with  water-jug  and  empty  wallet, 
sine  omni  expensa  ;  and,  at  his  victorious  return,  sat  down  not 
to  newspaper-paragraphs  and  city-illuminations,  but  at  the 
foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine  to  shackles  and  bread  and  water ! 
He  that  cannot  be  servant  of  many,  will  never  be  master,  true 
guide  and  deliverer  of  many  ; — that  is  the  meaning  of  true 
mastership.  Had  not  the  Monk-life  extraordinary  '  political 
capabilities'  in  it ;  if  not  imitable  by  us,  yet  enviable  ?  Heavens, 
had  a  Duke  of  Logwood,  now  rolling  sumptuously  to  his  place 
in  the  Collective  Wisdom,  but  himself  happened  to  plough 
daily,  at  one  time,  on  seven-and-six-pence  a  week,  with  no  out- 
door relief, — what  a  light,  unquenchable  by  logic  and  statistic 
and  arithmetic,  would  it  have  thrown  on  several  things  for 
him  ! 

In  all  cases,  therefore,  we  will  agree  with  the  judicious  Mrs. 
Glass  :  6  First  catch  your  hare  ! '  First  get  your  man  ;  all  is 
got  :  he  can  learn  to  do  all  things,  from  making  boots,  to  de- 
creeing judgments,  governing  communities  ;  and  will  do  them 
like  a  man.  Catch  your  no-man, — alas,  have  you  not  caught 
the  terriblest  Tartar  in  the  world  !  Perhaps  all  the  terribler, 
the  quieter  and  gentler  he  looks.  For  the  mischief  that  one 
blockhead,  that  every  blockhead  does,  in  a  world  so  feracious, 
teeming  with  endless  results  as  ours,  no  ciphering  will  sum 
up.  The  quack  bootmaker  is  considerable  ;  as  corn -cutters 
can  testify,  and  desperate  men  reduced  to  buckskin  and  list- 
shoes.    But  the  quack  priest,  quack  high-priest,  the  quack 


GOVERNMENT. 


89 


king  !  Why  do  not  all  just  citizens  rush,  half-frantic,  to  stop 
him,  as  they  would  a  conflagration  ?  Surely  a  just  citizen  is 
admonished  by  God  and  his  own  Soul,  by  all  silent  and  articu- 
late voices  of  this  Universe,  to  do  what  in  him  lies  towards 
relief  of  this  poor  blockhead-quack,  and  of  a  world  that  groans 
under  him.  Kun  swiftly  ;  relieve  him, — were  it  even  by  extin- 
guishing him  !  For  all  things  have  grown  so  old,  tinder-dry, 
combustible  ;  and  he  is  more  ruinous  than  conflagration. 
Sweep  him  down,  at  least ;  keep  him  strictly  within  the 
hearth  ;  he  will  then  cease  to  be  conflagration  ;  he  will  then 
become  useful,  more  or  less  as  culinary  fire.  Fire  is  the  best 
of  servants  ;  but  what  a  master  !  This  poor  blockhead  too  is 
born  for  uses  :  why,  elevating  him  to  mastership,  will  you 
make  a  conflagration,  a  parish-curse  or  world-curse  of  him  ? 


CHAPTEE  X. 

GOVERNMENT. 

How  Abbot  Samson,  giving  his  new  subjects  seriatim  the 
kiss  of  fatherhood  in  the  St.  Edmundsbury  chapterhouse, 
proceeded  with  cautious  energy  to  set  about  reforming  their 
disjointed  distracted  way  of  life  ;  how  he  managed  his  Fifty 
rough  Milites  (Feudal  Knights),  with  his  lazy  Farmers,  remiss 
refractory  Monks,  with  Pope's  Legates,  Viscounts,  Bishops, 
Kings  ;  how  on  all  sides  he  laid  about  him  like  a  man,  and 
putting  consequence  on  premiss,  and  everywhere  the  saddle 
on  the  right  horse,  struggled  incessantly  to  educe  organic 
method  out  of  lazily  fermenting  wreck, — the  careful  reader 
will  discern,  not  without  true  interest,  in  these  pages  of 
Jocelin  Boswell.  In  most  antiquarian  quaint  costume,  not  of 
garments  alone,  but  of  thought,  word,  action,  outlook  and 
position,  the  substantial  figure  of  a  man  with  eminent  nose, 
bushy  brows  and  clear-flashing  eyes,  his  russet  beard  grow- 
ing daily  greyer,  is  visible,  engaged  in  true  governing  of  men. 
It  is  beautiful  how  the  chrysalis  governing-soul,  shaking  off 
its  dusty  slough  and  prison,  starts  forth  winged  a  true  royal 
soul !   Our  new  Abbot  has  a  right  honest  unconscious  feeling, 


90 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


without  insolence  as  without  fear  or  flutter,  of  what  he  is 
and  what  others  are.  A  courage  to  quell  the  proudest,  an 
honest  pity  to  encourage  the  humblest.  Withal  there  is  a 
noble  reticence  in  this  Lord  Abbot :  much  vain  unreason  he 
hears  ;  lays  up  without  response.  He  is  not  there  to  expect 
reason  and  nobleness  of  others  ;  he  is  there  to  give  them  of 
his  own  reason  and  nobleness.  Is  he  not  their  servant,  as  we 
said,  who  can  suffer  from  them,  and  for  them  ;  bear  the 
burden  their  poor  spindle-limbs  totter  and  stagger  under  ; 
and  in  virtue  thereof  govern  them,  lead  them  out  of  weakness 
into  strength,  out  of  defeat  into  victory  ! 

One  of  the  first  Herculean  Labours  Abbot  Samson  under- 
took, or  the  very  first,  was  to  institute  a  strenuous  review  and 
radical  reform  of  his  economies.  It  is  the  first  labour  of  every 
governing  man,  from  Paterfamilias  to  Dominus  Bex.  To  get 
the  rain  thatched  out  from  you  is  the  preliminary  of  whatever 
farther,  in  the  way  of  speculation  or  of  action,  you  may  mean 
to  do.  Old  Abbot  Hugo's  budget,  as  we  saw,  had  become 
empty,  filled  with  deficit  and  wind.  To  see  his  account-books 
clear,  be  delivered  from  those  ravening  flights  eff  Jew  and 
Christian  creditors,  pouncing  on  him  like  obscene  harpies 
wherever  he  shewed  face,  was  a  necessity  for  Abbot  Samson. 

On  the  morrow  after  his  instalment,  he  brings  in  a  load  of 
money-bonds,  all  duly  stamped,  sealed  with  this  or  the  other 
Convent  Seal :  frightful,  unmanageable,  a  bottomless  confu- 
sion of  Convent  finance.  There  they  are  ;  but  there  at  least 
they  all  are  ;  all  that  shall  be  of  them.  Our  Lord  Abbot  de- 
mands that  all  the  official  seals  in  use  among  us  be  now  pro- 
duced and  delivered  to  him.  Three-and- thirty  seals  turn  up ; 
are  straightway  broken,  and  shall  seal  to  more  :  the  Abbot 
only,  and  those  duly  authorised  by  him  shall  seal  any  bond. 
There  are  but  two  ways  of  paying  debt :  increase  of  industry 
in  raising  income,  increase  of  thrift  in  laying  it  out.  "With 
iron  energy,  in  slow  but  steady  undeviating  perseverance, 
Abbot  Samson  sets  to  work  in  both  directions.  His  troubles 
are  manifold  :  cunning  milites,  unjust  bailiffs,  lazy  sockmen, 
he  an  inexperienced  Abbot ;  relaxed  lazy  monks,  not  disin- 


GOVERNMENT. 


91 


clinecl  to  mutiny  in  mass :  but  continued  vigilance,  rigorous 
method,  what  we  call  '  the  eye  of  the  master,'  work  wonders. 
The  clear-beaming  eyesight  of  Abbot  Samson,  stedfast,  severe, 
all  penetrating, — it  is  like  Fiat  lux  in  that  inorganic  waste 
whirlpool ;  penetrates  gradually  to  all  nooks,  and  of  the  chaos 
makes  a  kosmos  or  ordered  world  ! 

He  arranges  everywhere,  struggles  unweariedly  to  arrange, 
and  place  on  some  intelligible  footing,  the  '  affairs  and  dues, 
res  ac  redditus,'  of  his  dominion.  The  Lakenheath  eels  cease 
to  breed  squabbles  between  human  beings  ;  the  penny  of 
reap-silver  to  explode  into  the  streets  the  Female  Chartism  of 
St.  Edmundsbury.  These  and  innumerable  greater  things. 
Wheresoever  Disorder  may  stand  or  lie,  let  it  have  a  care  ; 
here  is  the  man  that  has  declared  war  with  it,  that  never  will 
make  peace  with  it.  Man  is  the  Missionary  of  Order ;  he  is 
the  servant  not  of  the  Devil  and  Chaos,  but  of  God  and  the 
Universe !  Let  all  sluggards  and  cowards,  remiss,  false- 
spoken,  unjust,  and  otherwise  diabolic  persons  have  a  care : 
this  is  a  dangerous  man  for  them.  He  has  a  mild  grave  face  ; 
a  thoughtful  sternness,  a  sorrowful  pity :  but  there  is  a  terri- 
ble flash  of  anger  in  him  too  ;  lazy  monks  often  have  to  mur- 
mur, "  Scevit  ut  lupus,  He  rages  like  a  wolf  ;  was  not  our 
Dream  true  !  "  '  To  repress  and  hold-in  such  sudden  anger 
he  was  continually  careful/  and  succeeded  well : — right,  Sam- 
son ;  that  it  may  become  in  thee  as  noble  central  heat,  fruit- 
ful, strong,  beneficent ;  not  blaze  out,  or  the  seldomest  possi- 
ble blaze  out,  as  wasteful  volcanoism  to  scorch  and  consume  ! 

"  We  must  first  creep,  and  gradually  learn  te  walk,"  had 
Abbot  Samson  said  of  himself,  at  starting.  In  four  years  he 
has  become  a  great  walker ;  striding  prosperously  along  ; 
driving  much  before  him.  In  less  than  four  years,  says  Joce- 
lin,  the  Convent  Debts  were  all  liquidated  :  the  harpy  Jews 
not  only  settled  with,  but  banished,  bag  and  baggage,  out  of 
the  Bannaleuca  (Liberties,  Banlieue)  of  St.  Edmundsbury, — so 
has  the  King's  Majesty  been  persuaded  to  permit.  Farewell 
to  you,  at  any  rate  ;  let  us,  in  no  extremity,  apply  again  to 
you  !  Armed  men  march  them  over  the  borders,  dismiss  them 


92 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


under  stern  penalties, — sentence  of  excommunication  on  all 
that  shall  again  harbour  them  here  :  there  were  many  dry 
eyes  at  their  departure. 

New  life  enters  everywhere,  springs  up  beneficent,  the  In- 
cubus of  Debt  once  rolled  away.  Samson  hastes  not ;  but 
neither  does  he  pause  to  rest.  This  of  the  Finance  is  a  life- 
long business  with  him  ;  Jocelm's  anecdotes  are  filled  to 
weariness  with  it.  As  indeed  to  Jocelin  it  was  of  very  pri- 
mary interest. 

But  we  have  to  record  also,  with  a  lively  satisfaction,  that 
spiritual  rubbish  is  as  little  tolerated  in  Samson's  Monastery 
as  material.  With  due  rigour,  Willelmus  Sacrista,  and  his 
bibations  and  tacenda  are,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  softly, 
yet  irrevocably  put  an  end  to.  The  bibations,  namely,  had  to 
end  ;  even  the  building  where  they  used  to  be  carried  on  was 
razed  from  the  soil  of  St.  Edmundsbury,  and  'on  its  place 
grow  rows  of  beans : '  Willelmus  himself,  deposed  from  the 
Sacristy  and  all  offices,  retires  into  obscurity,  into  absolute 
taciturnity  unbroken  thenceforth  to  this  hour.  Whether  the 
poor  Willelmus  did  not  still,  by  secret  channels,  occasionally 
get  some  slight  wetting  of  vinous  or  alcoholic  liquor, — now 
grown,  in  a  manner,  indispensable  to  the  poor  man?  Jocelin 
hints  not ;  one  knows  not  how  to  hope,  what  to  hope  !  But  if 
he  did,  it  was  in  silence  and  darkness  ;  with  an  ever-present 
feeling  that  teetotalism  was  his  only  true  course.  Drunken 
dissolute  Monks  are  a  class  of  persons  who  had  better  keep 
out  of  Abbot  Samson's  way.  Scevit  id  lupus;  was  not  the 
Dream  true  !  murmured  many  a  Monk.  Nay,  Kanulf  de  Glan- 
ville,  Justiciary  in  Chief,  took  umbrage  at  him,  seeing  these 
strict  ways  ;  and  watched  farther  with  suspicion :  but  dis- 
cerned gradually  that  there  was  nothing  wrong,  that  there 
was  much  the  opposite  of  wrong. 


THE  ABBOT'S  WAYS. 


03 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    ABBOT'S  WAYS. 

Abbot  Samson  shewed  no  extraordinary  favour  to  the  Monks 
who  had  been  his  familiars  of  old  ;  did  not  promote  them  to 
offices, — nisi  essent  idonei,  unless  they  chanced  to  be  fit  men  ! 
Whence  great  discontent  among  certain  of  these,  who  had 
contributed  to  make  him  Abbot :  reproaches,  open  and  secret, 
of  his  being  £  ungrateful,  hard-tempered,  unsocial,  a  Norfolk 
barrator  and  paltenerius.' 

Indeed,  except  it  were  for  idonei,  'fit  men,'  in  all  kinds,  it 
was  hard  to  say  for  whom  Abbot  Samson  had  much  favour. 
He  loved  his  kindred  well,  and  tenderly  enough  acknowledged 
the  poor  part  of  them  ;  with  the  rich  part,  who  in  old  days 
had  never  acknowledged  him,  he  totally  refused  to  have  any 
business.  Bat  even  the  former  he  did  not  promote  into  of- 
fices ;  finding  none  of  them  idonei.  '  Some  whom  he  thought 
-  suitable  he  put  into  situations  in  his  own  household,  or  made 
'  keepers  of  his  country  places :  if  they  behaved  ill,  he  dis- 
missed them  without  hope  of  return.'  In  his  promotions, 
nay  almost  in  his  benefits,  you  would  have  said  there  was  a 
certain  impartiality.  '  The  official  person  who  had,  by  Abbot 
'  Hugo's  order,  put  the  fetters  on  him  at  his  return  from  Italy, 
'  was  now  supported  with  food  and  clothes  to  the  end  of  his 
'days  at  Abbot  Samson's  expense.' 

Yet  he  did  not  forget  benefits  ;  far  the  reverse,  when  an 
opportunity  occurred  of  paying  them  at  his  own  cost.  How 
pay  them  at  the  public  cost ; — how,  above  all,  by  setting  fire 
to  the  public,  as  we  said  ;  clapping  '  conflagrations '  on  the 
public,  which  the  services  of  blockheads,  non-idonei,  intrinsi- 
cally are !  He  was  right  willing  to  remember  friends,  when 
it  could  be  done.  Take  these  instances  :  '  A  certain  chaplain 
c  who  had  maintained  him  at  the  Schools  of  Paris  by  the  sale 
'of  holy  water,  qucestu  aquce  benedictce  ; — to  this  good  chaplain 
'  he  did  give  a  vicarag*e,  adequate  to  the  comfortable  suste- 
' nance  of  him.'    'The  Son  of  Elias,  too,  that  is,  of  old  Abbot 


94 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


'  Hugo's  Cupbearer,  coming  to  do  homage  for  his  Father's 
'  land,  our  Lord  Abbot  said  to  him  in  full  court  :  "  I  have,  for 
'•  these  seven  years,  put  off  taking  thy  homage  for  the  land 
'  which  Abbot  Hugo  gave  thy  Father,  because  that  gift  was  to 
'the  damage  of  Elmswell,  and  a  questionable  one  :  but  now  I 
'must  profess  myself  .overcome  ;  mindful  of  the  kindness  thy 
c  Father  did  me  when  I  was  in  bonds  ;  because  he  sent  me  a 
£  cup  of  the  very  wine  his  master  had  been  drinking,  and  bade 
'  me  be  comforted  in  God." ' 

'  To  Magister  "Walter,  son  of  Magister  William  de  Dice,  who 
'  wanted  the  vicarage  of  Chevington,  he  answered:  "Thy 
'  Father  was  Master  of  the  Schools  ;  and  when  I  was  an  indi- 
'  gent  clericus,  he  granted  me  freely  and  in  charity  an  entrance 
'  to  his  School,  and  opportunity  of  learning ;  wherefore  I 
'  now,  for  the  sake  of  God,  grant  to  thee  what  thou  askest."  5 
Or  lastly,  take  this  good  instance, — and  a  glimpse,  along  with 
it,  into  long-obsolete  times :  '  Two  Milites  of  Risby,  Willelm 
6  and  Norman,  being  adjudged  in  Court  to  come  under  his 
'  mercy,  in  misericordia  ejus/  for  a  certain  very  considerable 
fine  of  twenty  shillings,  '  he  thus  addressed  them  publicly  on 
'  the  spot :  "When  I  was  a  Cloister-monk,  I  was  once  sent  to 
'  Durham  on  business  of  our  Church  ;  and  coming  home  again, 
' the  dark  night  caught  me  at  Risby,  and  I  had  to  beg  a  lodg- 
-  ing  there.  I  went  to  Dominus  Norman's,  and  he  gave  me  a 
'  flat  refusal.  Going  then  to  Dominus  Willelm's,  and  begging 
'  hospitality,  I  was  by  him  honourably  received.  The  twenty 
'  shillings  therefore  of  mercy,  I,  without  mercy,  will  exact  from 
'Dominus  Norman  ;  to  Dominus  Willelm,  on  the  other  hand, 
4 1,  with  thanks,  will  wholly  remit  the  said  sum."  '  Men  know 
not  always  to  whom  they  refuse'  lodgings ;  men  have  lodged 
Angels  unawares ! — 

It  is  clear  Abbot  Samson  had  a  talent ;  he  had  learned  to 
judge  better  than  Lawyers,  to  manage  better  than  bred  Bail- 
iffs : — a  talent  shining  out  indisputable,  on  whatever  side  you 
took  him.  £An  eloquent  man  he  was,'  says  Jocelin,  'both  in 
'French  and  Latin  ;  but  intent  more  on  the  substance  and 
'  method  of  what  was  to  be  said,  than  on  the  ornamental  way 


THE  ABBOT'S  WAYS. 


95 


1  of  saying  it.  He  could  read  English  Manuscripts  very  ele- 
'  gantry,  elegantissime  :  he  was  wont  to  preach  to  the  people 
£  in  the  English  tongue,  though  according  to  the  dialect  of 
'  Norfolk,  where  he  had  been  brought  up  ;  wherefore  indeed 
£  he  had  caused  a  Pulpit  to  be  erected  in  our  Church  both  for 
( ornament  of  the  same,  and  for  the  use  of  his  audiences.5 
There  preached  he,  according  to  the  dialect  of  Norfolk  :  a 
man  worth  going  to  hear. 

That  he  was  a  just  clear-hearted  man,  this,  as  the  basis  of 
all  true  talent,  is  presupposed.  How  can  a  man,  without  clear 
vision  in  his  heart  first  of  all,  have  any  clear  vision  in  the  head  ? 
It  is  impossible  !  Abbot  Samson  was  one  of  the  justest  of 
judges  ;  insisted  on  understanding  the  case  to  the  bottom,  and 
then  swiftly  decided  without  feud  or  favour.  For  which  rea- 
son, indeed,  the  Dominus  Rex,  searching  for  such  men,  as  for 
hidden  treasure  and  healing  to  his  distressed  realm,  had  made 
him  one  of  the  new  Itinerant  Judges, — such  as  continue  to 
this  day.  "  My  curse  on  that  Abbot's  court,"  a  suitor  was 
heard  imprecating,  "  Maledicta  sit  curia  istius  Abbatis,  where 
neither  gold  nor  silver  can  help  me  to  confound  my  enemy  ! " 
And  old  friendships  and  all  connexions  forgotten,  when  you 
go  to  seek  an  office  from  him  !  "  A  kinless  loon,"  as  the- Scotch 
said  of  Cromwell's  new  judges, — intent  on  mere  indifferent 
fair-play  ! 

Eloquence  in  three  languages  is  good  ;  but  it  is  not  the  best. 
To  us,  as  already  hinted,  the  Lord  Abbot's  eloquence  is  less 
admirable  than  his  ineloquence,  his  great  invaluable  £  talent 
of  silence  ! 3  '  "  Deus,  Deus"  said  the  Lord  Abbot  to  me  once, 
£  when  he  heard  the  Convent  were  murmuring  at  some  act  of 
£  his,  "  I  have  much  need  to  remember  that  Dream  they  had 
6  of  me,  that  I  was  to  rage  among  them  like  a  wolf.  Above  all 
6  earthly  things  I  dread  their  driving  me  to  do  it.  How  much 
'  do  I  hold  in,  and  wink  at ;  raging  and  shuddering  in  my  own 
'  secret  mind,  and  not  outwardly  at  all !  "  He  would  boast  to 
£  me  at  other  times  :  "  This  and  that  I  have  seen,  this  and  that 
£I  have  heard  ;  yet  patiently  stood  it."  He  had  this  way,  too, 
'  which  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  man,  that  he  affection- 
'  ately  loved  many  persons  to  whom  he  never  or  hardly  ever 


96 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


'shewed  a  countenance  of  love.  Once  on  my  venturing  to 
'  expostulate  with  him  on  the  subject,  he  reminded  me  of  Sol- 
c  onion  :  "  Many  sons  I  have  ;  it  is  not  fit  that  1  should  smile 
'  on  them."  He  would  suffer  faults,  damage  from  his  servants, 
'  and  know  what  he  suffered,  and  not  speak  of  it ;  but  I  think 
'  the  reason  was,  he  waited  a  good  time  for  speaking  of  it,  and 
'in  a  wise  way  amending  it.  He  intimated,  openly  in  chapter 
e  to  us  all,  that  he  would  have  no  eaves-dropping  :  "  Let  none," 
'said  he,  "come  to  me  secretly  accusing  another,  unless  he 
'  will  publicly  stand  to  the  same  ;  if  he  come  otherwise,  I  will 
'  openly  proclaim  the  name  of  him.  I  wish,  too,  that  every 
'  Monk  of  you  have  free  access  to  me,  to  speak  of  your  needs 
'  or  grievances  when  you  will."  5 

The  kinds  of  people  Abbot  Samson  liked  worst  were  these 
three  :  '  Mendaces,  ebriosi,  verbosi,  Liars,  drunkards,  and  wordy 
or  windy  persons  — not  good  kinds,  any  of  them  !  He  also 
much  condemned  '  persons  given  to  murmur  at  their  meat  or 
drink,  especially  Monks  of  that  disposition.'  We  remark,  from 
the  very  first,  his  strict  anxious  order  to  his  servants  to  pro- 
vide handsomely  for  hospitality,  to  guard  'above  all  things 
'  that  there  be  no  shabbiness  in  the  matter  of  meat  and  drink  ; 
'no  look  of  mean  parsimony,  in  nomtate  mea,  at  the  beginning 
'  of  my  Abbotship  ; '  and  to  the  last  he  maintains  a  due  opulence 
of  table  and  equipment  for  others :  but  he  is  himself  in  the 
highest  degree  indifferent  to  all  such  things. 

'  Sweet  milk,  honey,  and  other  naturally  sweet  kinds  of  food, 
'  were  what  he  preferred  to  eat :  but  he  had  this  virtue,'  says 
Jocelin,  'he  never  changed  the  dish  (fere alum)  you  set  before 
'  him,  be  what  it  might.  Once  when  I,  still  a  novice,  happened 
'to  be  waiting  table  in  the  refectory,  it  came  into  my  head,' 
(rogue  that  I  was  !)  '  to  try  if  this  were  true  ;  and  I  thought  I 
'  would  place  before  him  txferculum  that  would  have  displeased 
''any  other  person,  the  very  platter  being  black  and  broken. 
•But  he,  seeing  it,  was  as  one  that  saw  it  not :  and  now  some 
'little  delay  taking  place,  my  heart  smote  me  that  I  had  done 
'  this  ;  and  so,  snatching  up  the  platter  (discus),  I  changed 
'  both  it  and  its  contents  for  a  better,  and  put  down  that  in- 
4  stead  ;  which  emendation  he  was  angry  at,  and  rebuked  me 


THE  ABBOT'S  WAYS. 


97 


'for/ — the  stoical  monastic  man  !  '  For  the  first  seven  years 
1  he  had  commonly  four  sorts  of  dishes  on  his  table  ;  after- 
6  wards  only  three,  except  it  might  be  presents,  or  venison 

*  from  his  own  parks,  or  fishes  from  his  ponds.  And  if,  at  any 
(  time,  he  had  guests  living  in  his  house  at  the  request  of  some 

*  great  person,  or  of  some  friend,  or  had  public  messengers,  or 
'  had  harpers  {citharoedos) ,  or  any  one  of  that  sort,  he  took  the 
€  first  opportunity  of  shifting  to  another  of  his  Manor-houses, 
'and  so  got  rid  of  such  superfluous  individuals,'  * — very  pru- 
dently, I  think. 

As  to  his  parks,  of  these,  in  the  general  repair  of  buildings, 
general  improvement  and  adornment  of  the  St.  Edmund 
Domains,  c  he  had  laid  out  several,  and  stocked  them  with 
'  animals,  retaining  a  proper  huntsman  with  hounds  :  and,  if 
'  any  guest  of  great  quality  were  there,  our  Lord  Abbot  with 
'  his  monks  would  sit  in  some  opening  of  the  woods,  and  see 
4  the  dogs  run  ;  but  he  himself  never  meddled  with  hunting, 
'  that  I  saw. '  f 

6  In  an  opening  of  the  woods ; ' — for  the  country  was  still 
dark  with  wood  in  those  days  ;  and  Scotland  itself  still 
rustled  shaggy  and  leafy,  like  a  damp  black  American  Forest, 
with  cleared  spots  and  spaces  here  and  there.  Dryasdust  ad- 
vances several  absurd  hypotheses  as  to  the  insensible  but 
almost  total  disappearance  of  these  woods  ;  the  thick  wreck 
of  which  now  lies  as  peat,  sometimes  with  huge  heart  of-oak 
timber  logs  imbedded  in  it,  on  many  a  height  and  hollow. 
The  simplest  reason  doubtless  is,  that  by  increase  of  hus- 
bandry, there  was  increase  of  cattle  ;  increase  of  hunger  for 
green  spring  food  ;  and  so,  more  and  more,  the  new  seedlings 
got  yearly  eaten  out  in  April ;  and  the  old  trees,  having  only 
a  certain  length  of  life  in  them,  died  gradually,  no  man  heed- 
ing it  and  disappeared  into  peat. 

A  sorrowful  waste  of  noble  wood  and  umbrage  !  Yes, — but 
a  very  common  one  ;  the  course  of  most  things  in  this  world. 
Monachism  itself,  so  rich  and  fruitful  once,  is  now  all  rotted 
into  peat ;  lies  sleek  and  buried, — and  a  most  feeble  bog-grass 

*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  31.  t  Ibid.,  p.  21. 

7 


98 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


of  Dilettantism  all  the  crop  we  reap  from  it !  That  also .  was 
frightful  waste  ;  perhaps  ^among  the  saddest  our  England  ever 
saw.  Why  will  men  destroy  noble  Forests,  even  when  in 
part  a  nuisance,  in  such  reckless  manner  ;  turning  loose  four- 
footed  cattle  and  Henry-the-Eighths  into  them  !  The  fifth  part 
of  our  English  soil.  Dryasdust  computes,  lay  consecrated  to 
'  spiritual  uses,'  better  or  worse  ;  solemnly  set  apart  to  foster 
spiritual  growth  and  culture  of  the  soul,  by  the  methods  then 
known  :  and  now— it  too,  like  the  four-fifths,  fosters  what  ? 
Gentle  shepherd,  tell  me  what ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES. 

The  troubles  of  Abbot  Samson,  as  he  went  along  in  this 
abstemious,  reticent,  rigorous  way,  were  more  than  tongue 
can  tell.  The  Abbot's  mitre  once  set  on  his  head  he  knew 
rest  no  more.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble  ;  that  is  the 
life  of  all  governors  that  really  govern  :  not  the  spoil  of  vic- 
tory, only  the  glorious  toil  of  battle  can  be  theirs.  Abbot 
Samson  found  all  men  more  or  less  headstrong,  irrational, 
prone  to  disorder  ;  continually  threatening  to  prone  ungov- 
ernable. 

His  lazy  Monks  gave  him  most  trouble.  '  My  heart  is  tor- 
tured,' said  he,  '  till  we  get  out  of  debt,  cor  meum  cruciatum 
est'  Your  heart,  indeed  ; — but  not  altogether  ours  !  By  no 
devisable  method,  or  none  of  three  or  four  that  he  devised, 
could  Abbot  Samson  get  these  Monks  of  his  to  keep  their  ac- 
counts straight  ;  but  always,  do  as  he  might,  the  Cellerarius 
at  the  end  of  the  term  is  in  a  coil,  in  a  flat  deficit, — verging 
again  towards  debt  and  Jews.  The  Lord  Abbot  at  last  de- 
clares sternly  he  will  keep  our  accounts  too  himself  ;  will  ap- 
point an  officer  of  his  own  to  see  our  Cellerarius  keep  them. 
Murmurs  thereupon  among  us :  Was  the  like  ever  heard  ? 
Our  Cellerarius  a  cipher  ;  the  very  Townsfolk  know  it :  sub- 
sannatio  et  derisio  sumus,  we  have  become  a  laughingstock  to 
mankind.    The  Norfolk  barrator  and  paltener  ! 


THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES. 


99 


And  consider,  if  the  Abbot  found  such  difficulty  in  the 
mere  economic  department,  how  much  in  more  complex  ones, 
in  spiritual  ones  perhaps  !  He  wears  a  stern  calm  face  ;  rag- 
ing and  gnashing  teeth,  fremens  and frendens,  many  times,  in 
the  secret  of  his  mind.  Withal,  however,  there  is  a  noble 
slow  perseverance  in  him  ;  a  strength  of  £  subdued  rage  '  cal- 
culated to  subdue  most  things :  always,  in  the  long-run,  he 
contrives  to  gain  his  point. 

Murmurs  from  the  Monks,  meanwhile,  cannot  fail ;  ever 
deeper  murmurs,  new  grudges  accumulating.  At  one  time, 
on  slight  cause,  some  drop  making  the  cup  run  over,  they 
burst  into  open  mutiny  :  the  Cellarer  will  not  obey,  prefers 
arrest  on  bread  and  water  to  obeying  ;  the  Monks  thereupon 
strike  work  ;  refuse  to  do  the  regular  chanting  of  the  day,  at 
least  the  younger  part  of  them  with  loud  clamour  and  uproar 
refuse  : — Abbot  Samson  has  withdrawn  to  another  residence, 
acting  only  by  messengers :  the  awful  report  circulates 
through  St.  Edmundsbury  that  the  Abbot  is  in  danger  of 
being  murdered  by  the  Monks  with  their  knives  !  How  wilt 
thou  appease  this,  Abbot  Samson?  Return  ;  for  the  Monas- 
tery seems  near  catching  fire ! 

Abbot  Samson  returns ;  sits  in  his  Thalamus  or  inner  room, 
hurls  out  a  bolt  or  two  of  excommunication :  lo,  one  dis- 
obedient Monk  sits  in  limbo,  excommunicated,  with  foot- 
shackles  on  him,  all  day  ;  and  three  more  our  Abbot  has 
gyved  c  with  the  lesser  sentence,  to  strike  fear  into  the 
others  ! 9  Let  the  others  think  with  whom  they  have  to  do. 
The  others  think  ;  and  fear  enters  into  them.  £  On  the  mor- 
4  row  morning  we  decide  on  humbling  ourselves  before  the 
'  Abbot,  by  word  and  gesture,  in  order  to  mitigate  his  mind. 
*  And  so  accordingly  was  done.  He,  on  the  other  side,  re- 
£  plying  with  much  humility,  yet  always  alleging  his  own  jas- 
'  tice  and  turning  the  blame  on  us,  when  he  saw  that  we  were 
'  conquered,  became  himself  conquered.  And  bursting  into 
6  tears,  perfusus  lachri/mis,  he  swore  that  he  had  never  grieved 
'  so  much  for  anything  in  the  world  as  for  this,  first  on  his 
£  own  account,  and  then  secondly  and  chiefly  for  the  public 
£  scandal  which  had  gone  abroad,  that  St.  Edmund's  Monks 


100 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


'  were  going  to  kill  their  Abbot.  And  when  he  had  narrated. 
'  how  he  went  away  on  purpose  till  his  anger  should  cool,  re- 
'peating  this  word  of  the  philosopher,  "I  would  have  taken 
6  vengeance  on  thee,  had  not  I  been  angry,"  he  arose  weeping, 
'  and  embraced  each  and  all  of  us  with  the  kiss  of  peace.  He 
'  wept  ;  we  all  wept  : '  * — what  a  picture  !  Behave  better,  ye 
remiss  Monks,  and  thank  Heaven  for  such  an  Abbot ;  or 
know  at  least  that  ye  must  and  shall  obey  him. 

Worn  down  in  this  manner,  with  incessant  toil  and  tribula- 
tion, Abbot  Samson  had  a  sore  time  of  it ;  his  grizzled  hair 
and  beard  grew  daily  greyer.  Those  Jews,  in  the  first  four 
years,  had  '  visibly  emaciated  him  : '  Time,  Jews,  and  the  task 
of  Governing,  will  make  a  man's  beard  very  grey !  '  In 
'twelve  years,'  says  Jocelin,  'our  Lord  Abbot  had  grown 
'wholly  white  as  snow,  tot  us  efficitur  albus  sicut  nix.'  White, 
atop,  like  the  granite  mountains  : — but  his  clear  beaming 
eyes  still  look  out,  in  their  stern  clearness,  in  their  sorrow  and 
pity  ;  the  heart  within  him  remains  unconquered. 

Nay  sometimes  there  are  gleams  of  hilarity  too  ;  little 
snatches  of  encouragement  granted  even  to  a  Governor. 
'Once  my  Lord  Abbot  and  I,  coming  down  from  London 
'  through  the  Forest,  I  inquired  of  an  old  wroman  whom  we 
'  came  up  to,  Whose  wood  this  was,  and  of  what  manor  ;  who 
'the  master,  who  the  keeper?/ — All  this  I  knew  very  well  be- 
forehand, and  my  Lord  Abbot  too,  Bozzy  that  I  was !  But 
'  the  old  woman  answered,  The  wood  belonged  to  the  new 
'  Abbot  of  St.  Edmunds,  was  of  the  manor  of  Harlow,  and  the 
'  keeper  of  it  was  one  Arnald.  How  did  he  behave  to  the 
'  people  of  the  manor  ?  I  asked  farther.  She  answered  that 
6  he  used  to  be  .  a  devil  incarnate,  dcemon  vivus,  an  enemy  of 
£  God,  and  flayer  of  the  peasants'  skins,' — skinning  them  like 
live  eels,  as  the  manner  of  some  is  :  '  but  that  now  he  dreads 
'  the  new  Abbot,  knowing  him  to  be  a  wise  and  sharp  man, 
'  and  so  treats  the  people  reasonably,  tractat  homines  paciftce.' 
Whereat  the  Lord  Abbot  f actus  est  hilaris, — could  not  but 
take  a  triumphant  laugh  for  himself  ;  and  determines  to  leave 
that  Harlow  manor  yet  unmeddled  with,  for  a  while. f 

*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  85.  flbid.,  p.  24. 


THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES, 


101 


A  brave  man,  strenuously  fighting,  fails  not  of  a  little 
triumph,  now  and  then,  to  keep  him  in  heart.  Everywhere 
we  try  at  least  to  give  the  adversary  as  good  as  he  brings  ; 
and,  with  swift  force  or  slow  watchful  manoeuvre,  extinguish 
this  and  the  other  solecism,  leave  one  solecism  less  in  God's 
Creation  ;  and  so  proceed  with  our  battle,  not  slacken  or  sur- 
render in  it !  The  Fifty  feudal  Knights,  for  example,  were  of 
unjust  greedy  temper,  and  cheated  us,  in  the  Installation  day, 
of  ten  knight's-fees ; — but  they  know  now  whether  that  has 
profited  them  aught,  and  I  Joeelin  know.  Our  Lord  Abbot 
for  the  moment  had  to  endure  it,  and  say  nothing  ;  but  he 
watched  his  time. 

Look  also  how  my  Lord  of  Clare,  coming  to  claim  his  undue 
'  debt  ■  in  the  Court  at  Witham,  with  barons  and  apparatus, 
gets  a  Kowland  for  his  Oliver !  Joeelin  shall  report  :  c  The 
8  Earl,  crowded  round  (constipatus)  with  many  barons  and 

*  men  at  arms,  Earl  Alberic  and  others  standing  by  him,  said, 
'  "  That  his  bailiffs  had  given  him  to  understand  they  were 
'  wont  annually  to  receive  for  his  behoof,  from  the  Hundred  of 

*  Bisebridge  and  the  bailiffs  thereof,  the  sum  of  ftve  shillings, 
'  which  sum  was  now  unjustly  held  back  ; "  and  he  alleged 
'farther  that  his  predecessors  had  been  infeft,  at  the  Conquest, 
'  in  the  lands  of  Alfric  son  of  Wisgar,  who  was  Lord  of  that 
'Hundred,  as  may  be  read  in  Domesday  Book  by  all  persons. 
' — The  Abbot,  reflecting  for  a  moment,  without  stirring 
'  from  his  place,  made  answer  :  u  A  wonderful  deficit,  my 
£  Lord  Earl,  this  that  thou  mentionest  !  King  Edward  gave 
'  to  St.  Edmund  that  entire  Hundred,  and  confirmed  the 
6  same  with  his  Charter  ;  nor  is  there  any  mention  there  of 
■  those  five  shillings.  It  will  behove  thee  to  say,  for  what 
4  service,  or  on  what  ground,  thou  exactest  those  five  shil- 
' lings."  Whereupon  the  Earl,  consulting  with  his  followers, 
'  replied,  That  he  had  to  carry  the  Banner  of  St.  Edmund  in 
'  war-time,  and  for  this  duty  the  five  shillings  were  his.  To 
'  which  the  Abbot :  "  Certainly,  it  seems  inglorious,  if  so 
'great  a  man,  Earl  of  Clare  no  less,  receive  so  small  a  gift 
6  for  such  a  service.  To  the  Abbot  of  St.  Edmund's  it  is  no 
s  unbearable  burden  to  give  five  shillings.    But  Roger  Earl 


102 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


6  Bigot  holds  himself  duly  seised,  and  asserts  that  he  by  such 
4  seisin  has  the  office  of  carrying  St.  Edmund's  Banner  ;  and 
£  he  did  carry  it  when  the  Earl  of  Leicester  and  his  Flemings 
£  were  beaten  at  Fornham.  Then  again  Thomas  de  Mendham 
£  says  that  the  right  is  his.  When  you  have  made  out  with 
6  one  another,  that  this  right  is  thine,  come  then  and  claim 
( the  five  shillings,  and  I  will  promptly  pay  them  !  "  Where- 
£  upon  the  Earl  said,  He  would  speak  with  the  Earl  Boger 
*  his  relative  ;  and  so  the  matter  cepit  dilationem,'  and  lies 
undecided  to  the  end  of  the  world.  Abbot  Samson  answers 
by  word  or  act,  in  this  or  the  like  pregnant  manner,  having 
justice  on  his  side,  innumerable  persons  :  Pope's  Legates. 
King's  Viscounts,  Canterbury  Archbishops,  Cellarers,  Soche- 
manni ; — and  leaves  many  a  solecism  extinguished. 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  is  and  remains  sore  work.  'One 
6  time,  during  my  chaplaincy,  I  ventured  to  say  to  him  :  u  Do- 
6  mine,  I  heard  thee,  this  night  after  matins,  wakeful,  and 
£  sighing  deeply,  valde  suspirantem,  contrary  to  the  usual 
£  wont."  He  answered  :  "  No  wonder.  Thou,  son  Jocelin, 
(  sharest  in*  my  good  things,  in  food  and  drink,  in  riding  and 
£  such  like  ;  but  thou  little  thinkest  concerning  the  manage- 
£  ment  of  House  and  Family,  the  various  and  arduous  businesses 
'  of  the  Pastoral  Care,  which  harass  me,  and  make  my  soul  to 
1  sigh  and  be  anxious."  Whereto  I,  lifting  up  my  hands  to 
'Heaven:  "From  such  anxiety,  Omnipotent  Merciful  Lord 
£  deliver  me  !  " — I  have  heard  the  Abbot  say,  If  he  had  been 
4  as  he  was  before  he  became  a  Monk,  and  could  have  any- 
£  where  got  five  or  six  marcs  of  income/  some  three  pound  ten 
of  yearly  revenue,  £  whereby  to  support  himself  in  the  schools, 
6  he  would  never  have  been  Monk  nor  Abbot.  Another  time  he 
s  said  with  an  oath,  If  he  had  known  what  a  business  it  was  to 
£  govern  the  Abbey,  he  would  rather  have  been  Almoner,  how 
£  much  rather  Keeper  of  the  Books,  than  Abbot  and  Lord. 
(  That  latter  office  he  said  he  had  always  longed  for,  beyond 
£  any  other.  Quis  talia  crederet,'  concludes  Jocelin,  £  Who  can 
6  believe  such  things  ? ' 

Three  pound  ten,  and  a  life  of  Literature,  especially  of  quiet 
Literature,  without  copyright,  or  world-celebrity  of  literary- 


IN  PARLIAMENT. 


103 


gazettes, — yes,  thorn  brave  Abbot  Samson,  for  thyself  it  had 
been  better,  easier,  perhaps  also  nobler  !  But  then,  for  thy 
disobedient  Monks,  unjust  Viscounts  ;  for  a  Domain  of  St. 
Edmund  overgrown  with  Solecisms,  human  and  other,  it  had 
not  been  so  well.  Nay  neither  could  thy  Literature,  never  so' 
quiet,  have  been  easy.  Literature,  when  noble,  is  not  easy  ; 
but  only  when  ignoble.  Literature  too  is  a  quarrel,  and  in- 
ternecine duel,  with  the  whole  World  of  Darkness  that  lies 
without  one  and  within  one  ; — rather  a  hard  fight  at  times, 
even  with  the  three  pound  ten  secure.  Thou,  there  where 
thou  art,  wrestle  and  duel  along  cheerfully  to  the  end ;  and 
make  no  remarks ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  PARLIAMENT. 

Of  Abbot  Samson's  public  business  we  say  little,  though 
that  also  was  great.  He  had  to  judge  the  people  as  Justice 
Errant,  to  decide  in  weighty  arbitrations  and  public  con- 
troversies ;  to  equip  his  milites,  send  them  duly  in  war-time 
to  the  King  ; — strive  every  way  that  the  Commonweal,  in  his 
quarter  of  it,  take  no  damage. 

Once,  in  the  confused  days  of  Lackland's  usurpation,  while 
Cceur~de-Lion  was  away,  our  brave  Abbot  took  helmet  him- 
self, having  first  excommunicated  all  that  should  favour  Lack- 
land ;  and  led  his  men  in  person  to  the  siege  of  Windleshora, 
what  we  now  call  Windsor ;  where  Lackland  had  entrenched 
himself,  the  centre  of  infinite  confusions  ;  some  Reform  Bill, 
then  as  now,  being  greatly  needed.  There  did  Abbot  Samson 
'  fight  the  battle  of  reform,' — with  other  ammunition,  one 
hopes,  than  6  tremendous  cheering '  and  such  like  !  For  these 
things  he  was  called  £  the  magnanimous  Abbot.' 

He  also  attended  duly  in  his  place  in  Parliament  de  ardiris 
regni ;  attended  especially,  as  in  arduissimo,  when  '  the  newrs 
reached  London  that  King  Richard  was  a  captive  in  Germany.' 
Here  'while  all  the  barons  sat  to  consult,'  and  many  of  them 
looked  blank  enough,  { the  Abbot  started  forth,  prosiliit  coram 
'  omnibus,  in  his  place  in  Parliament,  and  said,  that  he  was 


104 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


£  ready  to  go  and  seek  his  Lord  the  King,  either  clandestinely 
'  by  subterfuge  (in  tapinagio),  or  by  any  other  method ;  and 
'  search  till  he  found  him,  and  got  certain  notice  of  him  ;  he 
cfor  one  !  By  which  word/  says  Jocelin,  'he  acquired  great 
'  praise  for  himself,' — unfeigned  commendation  from  the  Able 
Editors  of  that  age. 

By  which  word  ; — and  also  by  which  deed :  for  the  Abbot 
actually  went  -  with  rich  gifts  to  the  King  in  Germany  ; '  * 
Usurper  Lackland  being  first  rooted  out  from  Windsor,  and 
the  King's  peace  somewhat  settled. 

As  to  these  crich  gifts,'  however,  we  have  to  note  one  thing  : 
In  all  England,  as  appeared  to  the  Collective  Wisdom,  there 
was  not  like  to  be  treasure  enough  for  ransoming  King  Rich- 
ard ;  in  which  extremity  certain  Lords  of  the  Treasury,  Jus- 
ticiarii  ad  Scaccarium,  suggested  that  St.  Edmund's  Shrine, 
covered  with  thick  gold  was  still  untouched.  Could  not  it,  in 
this  extremity,  be  peeled  off,  at  least  in  part ;  under  condi- 
tion, of  course,  of  its  being  replaced,  when  times  mended? 
The  Abbot,  starting  plumb  up,  se  erigen.%  answered  :  "  Know 
ye  for  certain,  that  I  will  in  no  wise  do  this  thing ;  nor  is 
there  any  man  who  could  force  me  to  consent  thereto.  But 
I  will  open  the  doors  of  the  Church  :  Let  him  that  likes  enter  ; 
let  him  that  dares  come  forward  !  "  Emphatic  words,  which 
created  a  sensation  round  the  woolsack.  For  the  Justiciaries 
of  the  Scaccarium  answered,  6  with  oaths,  each  for  himself: 
'  "I  won't  come  forward,  for  my  share  ;  nor  will  I,  nor  I !  The 
'  distant  and  absent  who  offended  him,  Saint  Edmund  has 
'  been  knowm  to  punish  fearfully ;  much  more  will  he  those 
£  close  by,  who  lay  violent  hands  on  his  coat,  and  would  strip 
*  it  off!  "  These  things  being  said,  the  Shrine  was  not  med- 
'  died  with,  nor  any  ransom  levied  for  it.'  f 

For  Lords  of  the  Treasury  have  in  all  times  their  impassa- 
ble limits,  be  it  by  '  force  of  public  opinion '  or  otherwise  ; 
and  in  those  days  a  Heavenly  Awe  overshadowed  and  encom- 
passed, as  it  still  ought  and  must,  all  earthly  Business  what- 
soever. 

*  Jocelini  Chronica,  pp.  39,  40.  f  Ibid.,  p.  71. 


HENRY  OF  ESSEX. 


105 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

HENRY  OF  ESSEX. 

Or  St.  Edmund's  fearful  avengements  have  they  not  the  re- 
markablest  instance  still  before  their  eyes  ?  He  that  will  go 
to  Heading  Monastery  may  find  there,  now  tonsured  into  a 
mournful  penitent  Monk,  the  once  proud  Henry  Earl  of  Es- 
sex ;  and  discern  how  St.  Edmund  punishes  terribly,  yet  with 
mercy !  This  Narrative  is  too  significant  to  be  omitted  as  a 
document  of  the  Time.  Our  Lord  Abbot,  once  on  a  visit  at 
Reading,  heard  the  particulars  from  Henry's  own  mouth  ;  and 
thereupon  charged  one  of  his  monks  to  write  it  down  ; — as 
accordingly  the  Monk  has  done,  in  ambitious  rhetorical  Latin  ; 
inserting  the  same,  as  episode,  among  Jocelin's  garrulous 
leaves.    Read  it  here  ;  with  ancient  yet  with  modern  eyes. 

Henry  Earl  of  Essex,  standard-bearer  of  England,  had  high 
places  and  emoluments ;  had  a  haughty  high  soul,  yet  with 
various  flaws,  or  rather  with  one  many-branched  flaw  and 
crack,  running  through  the  texture  of  it.  For  example,  did 
he  not  treat  Gilbert  de  Cereville  in  the  most  shocking  man- 
ner? He  cast  Gilbert  into  prison  ;  and,  with  chains  and  slow 
torments,  wore  the  life  out  of  him  there.  And  Gilbert's  crime 
was  understood  to  be  only  that  of  innocent  Joseph  :  the  Lady 
Essex  was  a  Potiphar's  Wife,  and  had  accused  poor  Gilbert ! 
Other  cracks,  and  branches  of  that  widespread  flaw  in  the 
Standard-bearer's  soul  we  could  point  out :  but  indeed  the 
main  stem  and  trunk  of  all  is  too  visible  in  this,  That  he  had 
no  right  reverence  for  the  Heavenly  in  Man, — that  far  from 
showing  due  reverence  to  St.  Edmund,  he  did  not  even  shew 
him  common  justice.  While,  others  in  the  Eastern  Counties 
were  adorning  and  enlarging  with  rich  gifts  St.  Edmund's 
resting  place,  which  had  become  a  city  of  refuge  for  many 
things,  this  Earl  of  Essex  flatly  defrauded  him,  by  violence  or 
quirk  of  law,  of  five  shillings  yearly,  and  converted  said  sum 
to  his  own  poor  uses  !    Nay,  in  another  case  of  litigation,  the 


106 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


unjust  Standard-bearer,  for  his  own  profit,  asserting  that  the 
cause  belonged  not  to  St.  Edmund's  Court,  but  to  his  in  Lai- 
land  Hundred,  'involved  us  in  travellings  and  innumerable 
'  expenses,  vexing  the  servants  of  St.  Edmund  for  a  long  tract 
c  of  time.'  In  short,  he  is  without  reverence  for  the  Heavenly, 
this  Standard-bearer  ;  reveres  only  the  Earthly,  Gold-coined  ; 
and  has  a  most  morbid  lamentable  flaw  in  the  texture  of  him. 
It  cannot  come  to  good. 

Accordingly,  the  same  flaw,  or  St.  Vitus'  tic,  manifests  itself 
ere  long  in  another  way.  In  the  year  1157,  he  went  with  his 
Standard  to  attend  King  Henry,  our  blessed  Sovereign  (whom 
we  saw  afterwards  at  Waltham),  in  his  War  with  the  Welsh. 
A  somewhat  disastrous  War  ;  in  which  while  King  Henry  and 
his  force  were  struggling  to  retreat  Parthian-like,  endless 
clouds  of  exasperated  Welshmen  hemming  them  in,  and  now 
we  had  come  to  the  £  difficult  pass-  of  Coleshill,'  and  as  it  were 
to  the  nick  of  destruction, — Henry  Earl  of  Essex  shrieks  out 
on  a  sudden  (blinded  doubtless  by  his  inner  flaw,  or  6  evil 
genius '  as  some  name  it),  That  King  Henry  is  killed,  That  all 
is  lost, — and  flings  down  his  Standard  to  shift  for  itself  there  ! 
And,  certainly  enough,  all  had  been  lost,  had  all  men  been  as 
he  ; — had  not  brave  men,  without  such  miserable  jerking  tic- 
douloureux  in  the  souls  of  them,  come  dashing  up,  with  blaz- 
ing swords  and  looks,  and  asserted  That  nothing  was  lost  yet, 
that  all  must  be  regained  yet.  In  this  manner  King  Henry 
and  his  force  got  safely  retreated,  Parthian-like,  from  the  pass 
of  Coleshill  and  the  Welsh  War.*  But,  once  home  again, 
Earl  Kobert  de  Montfort,  a  kinsman  of  this  Standard-bearer's, 
rises  up  in  the  King's  Assembly  to  declare  openly  that  such  a 
man  is  unfit  for  bearing  English  Standards,  being  in  fact 
either  a  special  traitor,  or  something  almost  worse,  a  coward 
namely,  or  universal  traitor.  Wager  of  Battle  in  consequence  ; 
solemn  Duel,  by  the  King's  appointment,  c  in  a  certain  Island 
of  the  Thames-stream  at  Beading,  apud  Badingas,  short  way 
from  the  Abbey  there.'  Kings,  Peers,  and  an  immense  mul- 
titude of  people,  on  such  scaffoldings  and  heights  as  they  can 
come  at,  are  gathered  round,  to  see  what  issue  the  business 
*St>e  Lyttelton's  Henry  II.,  ii.  384. 


\ 


HENRY  OF  ESSEX. 


107 


will  take.  The  business  takes  this  bad  issue,  in  our  Monk's 
own  words  faithfully  rendered  ;  • 

6  And  it  came  to  pass,  while  Robert  de  Montfort  thundered 
'  on  him  manfully  [mriliter  intoridsset)  with  hard  and  frequent 
*  strokes,  and  a  valiant  beginning  promised  the  fruit  of  vie- 
'  tory,  Henry  of  Essex,  rather  giving  way,  glanced  round  on 
c  all  sides  ;  and  lo,  at  the  rim  of  the  horizon,  on  the  confines 
'  of  the  River  and  land,  he  discerned  the  glorious  King  and 
'  Martyr  Edmund,  in  shining  armour,  and  as  if  hovering  in 
'  the  air ;  looking  towards  him  with  severe  countenance,  nod- 
1  ding  his  head  with  a  mien  and  motion  of  austere  anger.  At 
'  St.  Edmund's  hand  there  stood  also  another  Knight,  Gilbert 
'  de  Cereville,  whose  armour  was  not  so  splendid,  whose 
'  stature  was  less  gigantic  ;  casting  vengeful  looks  at  him. 
'  This  he  seeing  with  his  eyes,  remembered  that  old  crime 
'  brings  new  shame.  And  now  wholly  desperate,  and  chang- 
'  ing  reason  into  violence,  he  took  the  part  of  one  blindly 
'  attacking,  not  skilfully  defending.  Who  while  he  struck 
'  fiercely  was  more  fiercely  struck  ;  and  so,  in  short,  fell  down 
'  vanquished,  and  it  was  thought,  slain.  As  he  lay  there  for 
'  dead,  his  kinsmen,  Magnates  of  England,  besought  the  King, 
c  that  the  Monks  of  Reading  might  have  leave  to  bury  him. 
i  However,  he  proved  not  to  be  dead,  but  got  well  again 
'  among  them  ;  and  now,  with  recovered  health,  assuming  the 
£  Regular  Habit,  he  strove  to  wipe  out  the  stain  of  his  former 
'  life,  to  cleanse  the  long  week  of  his  dissolute  history  by  at 
'  least  a  purifying  sabbath,  and  cultivate  the  studies  of  Virtue 
'  into  fruits  of  eternal  Felicity.'  * 

Thus  does  the  Conscience  of  man  project  itself  athwart 
whatsoever  of  knowledge  or  surmise,  of  imagination,  under- 
standing, faculty,  acquirement,  or  natural  disposition  he  has  in 
him  ;  and,  like  light  through  coloured  glass,  paint  strange  pic- 
tures c  on  the  rim  of  the  horizon'  and  elsewhere  !  Truly,  this 
same  c  sense  of  the  Infinite  nature  of  Duty '  is  the  central  part 
of  all  with  us  ;  a  ray  as  of  Eternity  and  Immortality,  immured 
in  dusky  many-coloured  Time,  and  its  deaths  and  births.  Your 
*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  52. 


108 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


c  coloured  glass '  varies  so  much  from  century  to  century  ; — ■ 
and,  in  certain  money-making,  game-preserving  centuries,  it 
gets  so  terribly  opaque  !  Not  a  Heaven  with  cherubim  sur- 
rounds you  then,  but  a  kind  of  vacant  leaden-coloured  Hell. 
One  day  it  will  again  cease  to  be  opaque,  this  '  coloured  glass/ 
Nay,  may  it  not  become  at  once  translucent  and  ?mcoloured  ? 
Painting  no  Pictures  more  for  us,  but  only  the  everlasting 
Azure  itself  ?    That  will  be  a  right  glorious  consummation  !— 

Saint  Edmund  from  the  horizon's  edge,  in  shining  armour, 
threatening  the  misdoer  in  his  hour  of  extreme  need  :  it  is 
beautiful,  it  is  great  and  true.  So  old,  yet  so  modern,  actual ; 
true  yet  for  every  one  of  us,  as  for  Henry  the  Earl  and  Monk  ! 
A  glimpse  as  of  the  Deepest  in  Man's  Destiny,  which  is  the 
same  for  all  times  and  ages.  Yes,  Henry  my  brother,  there 
in  thy  extreme  need,  thy  soul  is  lamed  ;  and  behold  thou 
canst  not  so  much  as  fight  !  For  Justice  and  Reverence  are 
the  everlasting  central  Law  of  this  Universe  ;  and  to  forget 
them,  and  have  all  the  Universe  against  one,  God  and  one's 
own  Self  for  enemies,  and  only  the  Devil  and  the  Dragons 
for  friends,  is  not  that  a  'lameness'  like  few?  That  some 
shining  armed  St.  Edmund  hang  minatory  on  thy  horizon, 
that  infinite  sulphur-lakes  hang  minatory,  or  do  not  now 
hang, — this  alters  no  whit  the  eternal  fact  of  the  thing.  I 
say,  thy  soul  is  lamed,  and  the  God  and  all  Godlike  in  it 
marred  :  lamed,  paralytic,  tending  towards  baleful  eternal 
death,  whether  thou  know  it  or  not ; — nay  hadst  thou  never 
known  it,  that  surely  had  been  worst  of  all  ! — 

Thus,  at  any  rate,  by  the  heavenly  Awe  that  overshadows 
earthly  Business,  does  Samson,  readily  in  those  days,  save  St. 
Edmund's  Shrine,  and  innumerable  still  more  precious  things. 


PR  A  CTIGAL'DE  VOTIONAL. 


109 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

PRACTICx\L-DEVOTIONAL. 

Here  indeed,  perhaps,  by  rule  of  antagonisms,  may  be  the 
place  to  mention  that,  after  King  Richard's  return,  there  was 
a  liberty  of  tourneying  given  to  the  fighting  men  of  England  : 
that  a  Tournament  was  proclaimed  in  the  Abbot's  domain, 
€  between  Thetford  and  St.  Edmundsbury,' — perhaps  in  the 
Euston  region,  on  Fakenham  Heights,  midway  between  these 
two  localities  :  that  it  was  publicly  prohibited  by  our  Lord 
Abbot ;  and  nevertheless  was  held  in  spite  of  him, — and  by 
the  parties,  as  would  seem,  considered  '  a  gentle  and  free  pas- 
sage of  arms.' 

Nay,  next  year,  there  came  to  the  same  spot  four-and- 
twenty  young  men,  sons  of  Nobles,  for  another  passage  of 
arms  ;  who,  having  completed  the  same,  all  rode  into  St.  Ed- 
mundsbury to  lodge  for  the  night.  Here  is  modesty  !  Our 
Lord  Abbot,  being  instructed  of  it,  ordered  the  Gates  to  be 
closed  ;  the  wThole  party  shut  in.  The  morrow  was  the  Vigil 
of  the  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul ;  no  outgate  on  the  morrow. 
Giving  their  promise  not  to  depart  without  permission,  those 
four-and-twenty  young  bloods  dieted  all  that  day  (manduca- 
verunt)  with  the  Lord  Abbot,  waiting  for  trial  on  the  mor- 
row. '  But  after  dinner,' — mark  it,  posterity  ! — '  the  Lord 
6  Abbot  retiring  into  his  Thalamus,  they  all  started  up,  and 
(  began  carolling  and  singing  (carolare  et  can  tare)  ;  sending 
/into  the  Town  for  wine;  drinking,  and  afterwards  howling 
c  (ululantes)  ; — totally  depriving  the  Abbot  and  Convent  of 
c  their  afternoon's  nap  ;  doing  all  this  in  derision  of  the  Lord 
'Abbot,  and  spending  in  such  fashion  the  whole  day  till 
6  evening,  nor  would  they  desist  at  the  Lord  Abbot's  order  ! 
'  Night  coming  on,  they  broke  the  bolts  of  the  Town  Gates, 
'  and  went  off  by  violence ! '  *  "Was  the  like  ever  heard 
of  ?  The  roysterous  young  dogs  ;  carolling,  howling,  break- 
ing the  Lord  Abbot's  sleep, — after  that  sinful  chivalry  cocb 
*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  40. 

\ 


110 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


fight  of  theirs!  They  loo  are  a  feature  of  distant  centuries, 
as  of  near  ones.  St.  Edmund  on  the  edge  of  your  horizon, 
or  whatever  else  there,  young  scamps,  in  the  dandy  state, 
whether  cased  in  iron  or  in  whalebone,  begin  to  caper  and 
carol  on  the  green  Earth  !  Our  Lord  Abbot  excommuni- 
cated most  of  them  ;  and  they  gradually  came  in  for  repent- 
ance. 

Excommunication  is  a  great  recipe  with  our  Lord  Abbot ; 
the  prevailing  purifier  in  those  ages.  Thus  when  the  Towns- 
folk and  Monks'-menials  quarrelled  once  at  the  Christmas 
Mysteries  in  St.  Edmund's  Churchyard,  and  £  from  words  it 
came  to  cuffs,  and  from  cuffs  to  cuttings  and  the  effusion  of 
blood,' — our  Lord  Abbot  excommunicates  sixty  of  the  rioters, 
with  bell,  book  and  candle  {accensis  candelis),  at  one  stroke.* 
Whereupon  they  all  come  suppliant,  indeed  nearly  naked, 
1  nothing  on  but  their  breeches,  omnino  nudi  prceter  fp-mo- 
'  ralia,  and  prostrate  themselves  at  the  Church-door.'  Figure 
that ! 

In  fact,  by  excommunication  or  persuasion,  by  impetuosity 
of  driving  or  adroitness  in  leading,  this  Abbot,  it  is  now 
becoming  plain  everywhere,  is  a  man  that  generally  remains 
master  at  last.  He  tempers  his  medicine  to  the  malady,  now 
hot,  now  cool ;  prudent  though  fiery,  an  eminently  practical 
man.  Nay  sometimes  in  his  adroit  practice  there  are  swift 
turns  almost  of  a  surprising  nature  !  Once,  for  example,  it 
chanced  that  Geoffrey  Kiddell  Bishop  of  Ely,  a  Prelate  rather 
troublesome  to  our  Abbot,  made  a  request  of  him  for  timber 
from  his  woods  towards  certain  edifices  going  on  at  Glems- 
ford.  The  Abbot,  a  great  builder  himself,  disliked  the  re- 
quest ;  could  not,  however,  give  it  a  negative.  While  he  lay, 
therefore,  at  his  Manorhouse  of  Melford  not  long  after,  there 
comes  to  him  one  of  the  Lord  Bishop's  men  or  monks,  with  a 
message  from  his  Lordship,  "  That  he  now  begged  permission 
to  cut  down  the  requisite  trees  in  Elms  well  Wood," — so  said 
the  monk  :  JElmswell,  where  there  are  no  trees  but  scrubs  and 
shrubs,  instead  of  Elmse£,  our  true  nemus,  and  high-towering 
oak-wood,  here  on  Melford  Manor!  Elmswell?  The  Lord 
*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  68. 


PR  A  CTICAL-DE  VO  TIONAL. 


Ill 


Abbot,  in  surprise,  inquires  privily  of  Richard  his  Forester ; 
.Richard  answers  that  my  Lord  of  Ely  has  already  had  his 
carpentarii  in  Elmsetf,  and  marked  out  for  his  own  use  all  the 
best  trees  in  the  compass  of  it.  Abbot  Samson  thereupon 
answers  the  monk  :  "  Elms  well  ?  Yes  surely,  be  it  as  my 
Lord  Bishop  wishes."  The  successful  monk,  on  the  morrow 
morning,  hastens  home  to  Ely  ;  but,  on  the  morrow  morning, 
'directly  after  mass,'  Abbot  Samson  too  was  busy  !  The  suc- 
cessful monk,  arriving  at  Ely,  is  rated  for  a  goose  and  an 
owl ;  is  ordered  back  to  say  that  Elmset  was  the  place  meant. 
Alas,  on  arriving  at  Elmset,  he  finds  the  Bishop's  trees,  they 
'  and  a  hundred  more/  all  felled  and  piled,  and  the  stamp  of 
St.  Edmund's  Monastery  burnt  into  them, — for  rooting  of  the 
great  tower  we  are  building  there  !  Your  importunate  Bishop 
must  seek  wood  for  Glemsford  edifices  in  some  other  nemus 
than  this.    A  practical  Abbot ! 

We  said  withal  there  was  a  terrible  flash  of  anger  in  him  : 
witness  his  address  to  old  Herbert  the  Dean,  who  in  a  too 
thrifty  manner  has  erected  a  windmill  for  himself  on  his  glebe- 
lands  at  Haberdon.  On  the  morrow,  after  mass,  our  Lord 
Abbot  orders  the  Cellerarius  to  send  off  his  carpenters  to 
demolish  the  said  structure  brevi  manu,  and  lay  up  the  wood 
in  safe-keeping.  Old  Dean  Herbert,  hearing  what  was  toward, 
comes  tottering  along  hither,  to  plead  humbly  for  himself  and 
his  mill.  The  Abbot  answers  :  "  I  am  obliged  to  thee  as  if 
thou  hadst  cut  off  both  my  feet !  By  God's  face,  per  os  Dei,  I 
will  not  eat  bread  till  that  fabric  be  torn  in  pieces.  Thou  art 
an  old  man,  and  shouldst  have  known  that  neither  the  King 
nor  his  Justiciary  dare  change  aught  within  the  Liberties, 
without  consent  of  Abbot  and  Convent  ;  and  thou  hast  pre- 
sumed on  such  a  thing  ?  I  tell  thee,  it  will  not  be  without 
damage  to  my  mills  ;  for  the  Townsfolk  will  go  to  thy  mill 
and  grind  their  corn  (bladum  suum)  at  their  own  good  pleas- 
ure ;  nor  can  I  hinder  them,  since  they  are  free  men.  I  will 
allow  no  new  mills  on  such  principle.  Away,  away  ;  before 
thou  gettest  home  again,  thou  shalt  see  what  thy  mill  has 
grown  to  !  "  * — The  very  reverend,  the  old  Dean  totters  home 
*  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  43. 


112 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


again  in  all  haste  ;  tears  the  mill  in  pieces  by  his  own  car* 
pextarii  to  save  at  least  the  timber  ;  and  Abbot  Samson's 
workmen,  coming  up,  find  the  ground  already  clear  of  it. 

Easy  to  bully  down  poor  old  rural  Deans,  and  blow  their 
windmills  away  :  but  who  is  the  man  that  dare  abide  King 
Richard's  anger  ;  cross  the  Lion  in  his  path,  and  take  him  by 
the  whiskers  !  Abbot  Samson  too  ;  he  is  that  man,  with  jus- 
tice on  his  side.  The  case  was  this.  Adam  de  Cokefield,  one 
of  the  chief  feudatories  of  St.  Edmund,  and  a  principal  man 
in  the  Eastern  Counties,  died,  leaving  large  possessions,  and 
for  heiress  a  daughter  of  three  months  ;  who,  by  clear  law,  as 
all  men  know,  became  thus  Abbot  Samson's  ward  ;  whom  ac- 
cordingly he  proceeded  to  dispose  of  to  such  person  as 
seemed  fittest.  But  now  King  Richard  has  another  person  in 
view,  to  whom  the  little  ward  and  her  great  possessions  were 
a  suitable  thing.  He,  by  letter,  requests  that  Abbot  Samson 
will  have  the  goodness  to  give  her  to  this  person.  Abbot 
Samson,  with  deep  humility,  replies  that  she  is  already  given. 
Now  letters  from  Richard,  of  severer  tenor ;  answered  with 
new  deep  humilities,  with  gifts  and  entreaties,  with  no  prom- 
ise of  obedience.  King  Richard's  ire  is  kindled  ;  messengers 
arrive  at  St.  Edmundsbury,  with  emphatic  message  to  obey 
or  tremble  !  Abbot  Samson,  wisely  silent  as  to  the  King's 
threats,  makes  answer  :  u  The  King  can  send  if  he  will  and 
seize  the  ward  :  force  and  power  he  has  to  do  his  pleasure, 
and  abolish  the  whole  Abbey.  But  I,  for  my  part,  never  can 
be  bent  to  wish  this  that  he  seeks,  nor  shall  it  by  me  be  ever 
done.  For  there  is  danger  lest  such  things  be  made  a  pre- 
cedent of,  to  the  prejudice  of  my  successors.  Videat  Altissi- 
mus,  Let  the  Most  High  look  on  it.  Whatsoever  thing  shall 
befall  I  will  patiently  endure." 

Such  was  Abbot  Samson's  deliberate  decision.  Why  not  ? 
Cceur-de-Lion  is  very  dreadful,  but  not  the  dreadfullest.  Vi- 
deat Altissimus.  I  reverence  Cceur-de-Lion  to  the  marrow  of 
my  bones,  and  will  in  all  right  things  be  homo  suns  ;  but  it 
is  not,  properly  speaking,  with  terror,  with  any  fear  at  all. 
On  the  whole,  have  I  not  looked  on  the  face  of  '  Satan  with 
outspread  wings  ; '  steadily  into  Hellfire  these  seven  and -forty 


PR  A  GTICAL-DE  VOTIONA  L. 


113 


years  ;  and  was  not  melted  into  terror  even  at  that,  such  the 
Lord's  goodness  to  me  ?    Coeur-de-Lion  ! 

Richard  swore  tornado  oaths,  worse  than  our  armies  in 
Flanders,  to  be  revenged  on  that  proud  Priest.  But  in  the  end 
he  discovered  that  the  Priest  was  right ;  and  forgave  him,  and 
even  loved  him.  '  King  Richard  wrote,  soon  after,  to  Abbot 
'  Samson,  That  he  wanted  one  or  two  of  the  St.  Edmundsbury 
6  dogs,  which  he  heard  were  good. '  Abbot  Samson  sent  him 
dogs  of  the  best ;  Richard  replied  by  the  present  of  a  ring, 
which  Pope  Innocent  the  Third  had  given  him.  Thou  brave 
Richard,  thou  brave  Samson  !  Richard  too,  I  suppose,  '  loved 
a  man,'  and  knew  one  when  he  saw  him. 

No  one  will  accuse  our  Lord  Abbot  of  wanting  worldly  wis- 
dom, due  interest  in  worldly  things.  A  skilful  man  ;  full  of 
cunning  insight,  lively  interests  ;  always  discerning  the  road 
to  his  object,  be  it  circuit,  be  it  short-cut,  and  victoriously 
travelling  forward  thereon.  Nay  rather  it  might  seem,  from 
Jocelin's  Narrative,  as  if  he  had  his  eye  all  but  exclusively  di- 
rected on  terrestrial  matters,  and  was  much  too  secular  for  a 
devout  man.  But  this  too,  if  we  examine  it,  was  right.  For 
it  is  in  the  world  that  a  man,  devout  or  other,  has  his  life  to 
lead,  his  work  waiting  to  be  done.  The  basis  of  Abbot  Sam- 
son's we  shall  discover,  was  truly  religion,  after  all.  Return- 
ing from  his  dusty  pilgrimage,  with  such  welcome  as  we  saw, 
'he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine.'  Not  a 
talking  theory  that ;  no,  a  silent  practice  :  Thou  St.  Edmund 
with  what  lies  in  thee,  thou  now  must  help  me,  or  none  will ! 

This  also  is  a  significant  fact  :  the  zealous  interest  our  Ab- 
bot took  in  the  Crusades.  To  all  noble  Christian  hearts  of 
that  era,  what  earthly  enterprise  so  noble  ?  '  When  Henry  II., 
c  having  taken  the  cross,  came  to  Sfc.  Edmund's,  to  pay  his  de- 
'  votions  before  setting  out,  the  Abbot  secretly  made  for.  him- 
'  self  a  cross  of  linen  cloth  :  and,  holding  this  in  one  hand 
'  and  a  threaded  needle  in  the  other,  asked  leave  of  the  King 
'  to  assume  it  ! '  The  King  could  not  spare  Samson  out 
of  England  ; — the  King  himself  indeed  never  went.  But 
the  Abbot's  eye  was  set  on  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  as  on  the  spot 
8 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


of  this  Earth  where  the  true  cause  of  Heaven  was  deciding 
itself.  '  At  the  retaking  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Pagans,  Abbot 
'  Samson  put  on  a  cilice  and  hair-shirt,  and  wore  under-gar- 
'  ments  of  hair-cloth  ever  after  ;  he  abstained  also  from  flesh 
'  and  flesh-meats  {came  et  carneis)  thenceforth  to  the  end  of 
'  his  life.'  Like  a  dark  cloud  eclipsing  the  hopes  of  Christen-, 
dom,  those  tidings  cast  their  shadow  over  St.  Eclmundsbury 
too  :  Shall  Samson  Abbas  take  pleasure  while  Christ's  Tomb 
is  in  the  hands  of  the  Infidel  ?  Samson,  in  pain  of  body,  shall 
daily  be  reminded  of  it,  daily  be  admonished  to  grieve  for  it. 

The  great  antique  heart :  how  like  a  child's  in  its  simplicity, 
like  a  man's  in  its  earnest  solemnity  and  depth !  Heaven  lies 
over  him  wheresoever  he  goes  or  stands  on  the  Earth  ;  making 
all  the  Earth  a  mystic  Temple  to  him,  the  Earth's  business  all 
a  kind  of  worship.  Glimpses  of  bright  creatures  flash  in  the 
common  sunlight  ;  angels  yet  hover  doing  God's  messages 
among  men  :  that  rainbow  was  set  in  the  clouds  by  the  hand 
of  God  !  Wonder,  miracle  encompass  the  man  ;  he  lives  in 
an  element  of  miracle  ;  Heaven's  splendour  over  his  head, 
Hell's  darkness  under  his  feet.  A  great  Law  of  Duty,  high 
as  these  two  Infinitudes,  dwarfing  all  else,  annihilating  all 
else, — making  royal  Richard  as  small  as  peasant  Samson, 
smaller  if  need  be  ! — The  c  imaginative  faculties  ? '  £  Rude 
poetic  ages?'  The  'primeval  poetic  element?'  O  for  God's 
sake,  good  reader,  talk  no  more  of  all  that !  It  was  not  a 
Dilettantism  this  of  Abbot  Samson.  It  was  a  Reality,  and  it 
is  one.  The  garment  only  of  it  is  dead ;  the  essence  of  it 
lives  through  all  Time  and  all  Eternity  ! — 

And  truly,  as  we  said  above,  is  not  this  comparative  silence 
of  Abbot  Samson  as  to  his  religion,  precisely  the  healthiest 
sign  of  him  and  of  it  ?  6  The  Unconscious  is  the  alone  Com- 
plete.' Abbot  Samson  all  along  a  busy  working  man,  as  all 
men  are  bound  to  be,  his  religion,  his  worship  was  like  his 
daily  bread  to  him  ; — which  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
talk  much  about ;  which  he  merely  eat  at  stated  intervals, 
and  lived  and  did  his  work  upon !  This  is  Abbot  Samson's 
Catholicism  of  the  Twelfth  Century  ; — something  like  the  Ism 


PBA  CTIGAL-DE  VOTIONAL. 


115 


of  all  true  men  in  all  true  centuries,  I  fancy  !  Alas,  compared 
with  any  of  the  Isms  current  in  these  poor  clays,  what  a  thing ! 
Compared  with  the  respectablest,  morbid,  struggling  Method- 
ism, never  so  earnest  ;  with  the  respeciablest,  ghastly,  dead 
or  galvanised  Dilettantism,  never  so  spasmodic ! 

Methodism  with  its  eye  forever  turned  on  its  own  navel ; 
asking  itself  with  torturing  anxiety  of  Hope  and  Fear,  "  Am 
I  right,  am  I  wrong?  Shall  I  be  saved,  shall  I  not  be 
damned  ?  " — what  is  this,  at  bottom,  but  a  new  phasis  of  Ego- 
ism, stretched  out  into  the  Infinite  ;  not  always  the  heavenlier 
for  its  infinitude  '.  Brother,  so  soon  as  possible,  endeavour  to 
rise  above  all  that.  "  Thou  art  wrong  ;  thou  art  like  to  be 
damned  : "  consider  that  as  the  fact,  reconcile  thyself  even  to 
that,  if  thou  be  a  man  ; — then  first  is  the  devouring  Universe 
subdued  under  thee,  and  from  the  black  murk  of  midnight 
and  noise  of  greedy  Acheron,  dawn  as  of  an  everlasting 
morning,  how  far  above  all  Hope  and  all  Fear,  springs  for 
thee,  enlightening  thy  steep  path,  awakening  in  thy  heart 
celestial  Memnon's  music. 

But  of  our  Dilettantisms,  and  galvanised  Dilettantisms  ;  of 
Puseyism — O  Heavens,  what  shall  we  say  of  Puseyism,  in 
comparison  to  Twelfth-Century  Catholicism  ?  Little  or  noth- 
ing ;  for  indeed  it  is  a  matter  to  strike  one  dumb. 

The  Builder  of  tins  Universe  was  wise, 

He  plann'd  all  souls,  all  systems,  planets,  particles: 

The  Plan  He  shap'd  all  Worlds  and  iEons  by 

Was  Heavens  ! — Was  thy  small  Mne-and- thirty  Articles  ? 

That  certain  human  souls,  living  on  this  practical  Earth, 
should  think  to  save  themselves  and  a  ruined  world  by  noisy 
theoretic  demonstrations  and  laudations  of  the  Church,  in- 
stead of  some  unnoisy,  unconscious,  but  practical,  total,  heart- 
and-soul  demonstration  of  a  Church  :  this,  in  the  circle  of 
revolving  ages,  this  also  was  a  thing  we  were  to  see.  A  kind 
of  penultimate  thing,  precursor  of  very  strange  consumma- 
tions ;  last  thing  but  one  ?  If  there  is  no  atmosphere,  what 
will  it  serve  a  man  to  demonstrate  the  excellence  of  lungs  ? 
How  much  profitabler  when  you  can,  like  Abbot  Samson, 
breathe  ;  and  go  along  your  way  ! 


116 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ST.  EDMUND. 

Abbot  Samson  built  many  useful,  many  pious  edifices  ;  human 
dwellings,  churches,  church-steeples,  barns  ; — all  fallen  now 
and  vanished,  but  useful  while  they  stood.  He  built  and  en- 
dowed '  the  Hospital  of  Bab  well : '  built  'fit  houses  for  the  St, 
Edmundsbury  Schools.'  Many  are  the  roofs  once  'thatched 
with  reeds '  which  he  '  caused  to  be  covered  with  tiles  ; '  or  if 
they  wTere  churches,  probably  '  with  lead. '  For  all  ruinous 
incomplete  things,  buildings  or  other,  were  an  eye-sorrow  to 
the  man.  We  saw  his  '  great  tower  of  St.  Edmund's ; '  or  at 
least  the  roof-timbers  of  it,  lying  cut  and  stamped  in  Elmset 
Wood.  To  change  combustible  decaying  reed-thatch  into 
tile  or  lead ;  and  material,  still  more,  moral  wreck  into  rain- 
tight order,  what  a  comfort  to  Samson  ! 

One  of  the  things  he  could  not  in  any  wise  but  rebuild  was 
the  great  Altar,  aloft  on  which  stood  the  Shrine  itself ;  the 
great  Altar,  which  had  been  damaged  by  fire,  by  the  careless 
rubbish  and  careless  candle  of  two  somnolent  Monks,  one 
night, — the  Shrine  escaping  almost  as  if  by  miracle  !  Abbot 
Samson  read  his  Monks  a  severe  lecture  :  "A  Dream  one  of 
us  had,  that  he  saw  St.  Edmund  naked  and  in  lamentable 
plight.  Know  ye  the  interpretation  of  that  Dream  ?  St. 
Edmund  proclaims  himself  naked,  because  ye  defraud  the 
naked  Poor  of  your  old  clothes,  and  give  with  reluctance  what 
ye  are  bound  to  give  them  of  meat  and  drink  :  the  idleness 
moreover  and  negligence  of  the  Sacristan  and  his  people  is 
too  evident  from  the  late  misfortune  by  fire.  Well  might  our 
Holy  Martyr  seem  to  lie  .cast  out  from  his  Shrine,  and  say 
with  groans  that  he  was  stript  of  his  garments,  and  wasted 
with  hunger  and  thirst !  " 

This  is  Abbot  Samson's  interpretation  of  the  Dream  ; — dia- 
metrically the  reverse  of  that  given  by  the  Monks  themselves, 
who  scruple  not  to  say  privily,  "  It  is  ive  that  are  the  naked  and 


ST.  EDMUND. 


117 


famished  limbs  of  the  Martyr  ;  we  whom  the  Abbot  curtails 
of  all  our  privileges,  setting  his  own  official  to  control  our  very 
Cellarer !  "  Abbot  Samson  adds,  that  this  judgment  by  fire 
has  fallen  upon  them  for  murmuring  about  their  meat  and 
drink. 

Clearly  enough,  meanwhile,  the  Altar,  whatever  the  burning 
of  it  mean  or  foreshadow,  must  needs  be  reedified.  Abbot 
Samson  reedifies  it,  all  of  polished  marble  ;  with  the  highest 
stretch  of  art  and  sumptuosity,  reembellishes  the  Shrine  for 
which  it  is  to  serve  as  pediment.  Nay  farther,  as  had  ever 
been  among  his  prayers,  he  enjoys,  he  sinner,  a  glimpse  of  the 
glorious  Martyr's  very  Body  in  the  process  ;  having  solemnly 
opened  the  Locidus,  Chest  or  sacred  Coffin,  for  that  purpose. 
It  is  the  culminating  moment  of  Abbot  Samson's  life.  Bozzy 
Jocelin  himself  rises  into  a  kind  of  Psalmist  solemnity  on  this 
occasion  ;  the  laziest  monk  c  weeps '  warm  tears,  as  Te  Deum 
is  sung. 

Very  strange  ; — how  far  vanished  from  us  in  these  unwor- 
shipping  ages  of  ours  !  The  Patriot  Hampden,  best  beatified 
man  we  have,  had  lain  in  like  manner  some  two  centuries  in 
his  narrow  home,  when  certain  dignitaries  of  us,  '  and  twelve 
grave-diggers  with  pulleys,'  raised  him  also  up,  under  cloud 
of  night ;  cut  off  his  arms  with  penknives,  pulled  the  scalp  off 
his  head, — and  otherwise  worshipped  our  Hero  Saint  in  the 
most  amazing  manner  !  *  Let  the  modern  eye  look  earnestly 
on  that  old  midnight  hour  in  St.  Edmundsbury  Church,  shin- 
ing yet  on  us,  ruddy-bright,  through  the  depths  of  seven  hun- 
dred years  ;  and  consider  mournfully  what  our  Hero-worship 
once  was,  and  what  it  now  is !  We  translate  with  all  the 
fidelity  we  can  : 

'  The  Festival  of  St.  Edmund  now  approaching,  the  marble 
'  blocks  are  polished,  and  all  things  are  in  readiness  for  lifting 
£  of  the  Shrine  to  its  new  place.  A  fast  of  three  days  was  held 
'  by  all  the  people,  the  cause  and  meaning  thereof  being  pub- 
'  \icly  set  forth  to  them.  The  Abbot  announces  to  the  Con- 
*  vent  that  all  must  prepare  themselves  for  transferring  of  the 

*  Annual  Register  (year  1828,  Chronicle,  p.  93),  Gentleman's  Maga- 
zine, &c,  &c. 


118 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK 


6  Shrine,  and  appoints  time  and  way  for  the  work.  Coming 
'  therefore  that  night  to  matins,  we  found  the  great  Shrine 
£  (  feretrum  magnum) .  raised  upon  the  Altar,  but  empty  ;  cov- 
s  ered  all  over  with  white  doeskin  leather,  fixed  to  the  wood 
'  with  silver  nails  ;  but  one  pannel  of  the  Shrine  wTas  left  down 
6  below,  and  resting  thereon,  beside  its  old  column  of  the 
£  Church,  the  Loculus  with  the  Sacred  Body  yet  lay  where  it 
£  was  wont.  Praises  being  sung,  we  all  proceeded  to  com- 
£  mence  our  disciplines  (ad  disciplinas  suscipiendas).  These 
£  finished,  the  Abbot  and  certain  with  him  are  clothed  in  their 
£  albs ;  and,  approaching  reverently,  set  about  uncovering  the 
c  Loculus.  There  was  an  outer  cloth  of  linen,  enwrapping 
£  the  Loculus  and  all ;  this  we  found  tied  on  the  upper  side 
£  with  strings  of  its  own :  within  this  was  a  cloth  of  silk,  and 
£  then  another  linen  cloth,  and  then  a  third ;  and  so  at  last 
'  the  Loculus  was  uncovered,  and  seen  resting  on  a  little  tray 
£  of  wood,  that  the  bottom  of  it  might  not  be  injured  by  the 
£  stone.  Over  the  breast  of  the  Martyr,  there  lay,  fixed  to  the 
£  surface  of  the  Loculus,  a  Golden  Angel  about  the  length  of 
£  a  human  foot ;  holding  in  one  hand  a  golden  sword,  and  in 
£  the  other  a  banner :  under  this  there  was  a  hole  in  the  lid  of 
£  the  Loculus,  on  which  the  ancient  servants  of  the  Martyr 
4  had  been  wont  to  lay  their  hands  for  touching  the  Sacred 
£  Body.  And  over  the  figure  of  the  Angel  was  this  verse  in- 
£  scribed  : 

i  Martlris  ecce  zoma  served  Micliaelis  agalmct.  * 

'  At  the  head  and  foot  of  the  Loculus  were  iron  rings  where- 
£  by  it  could  be  lifted. 

£  Lifting  the  Loculus  and  Body,  therefore,  they  carried  it 
'  to  the  Altar  ;  and  I  put-to  my  sinful  hand  to  help  in  carry- 
£  ing,  though  the  Abbot  had  commanded  that  none  should 
£  approach  except  called.  And  the  Loculus  was  placed  in  the 
£  Shrine  ;  and  the  pannel  it  had  stood  on  was  put  in  its  place, 
£  and  the  Shrine  for  the  present  closed.  We  all  thought  that 
£  the  Abbot  would  shew  the  Loculus  to  the  people  ;  and  bring 
1  out  the  Sacred  Body  again,  at  a  certain  period  of  the  Fes- 
*  This  is  the  Martyr's  Garment,  which  Michael's  Image  guards. 


ST.  EDMUND. 


119 


*  tival.  But  in  this  we  were  wofully  mistaken,  as  the  sequel 
'  shews. 

'  For  in  the  fourth  holiday  of  the  Festival,  while  the  Con- 
'  vent  were  all  singing  Gompletorium,  our  Lord  Abbot  spoke 
'  privily  with  the  Sacristan  and  Walter  the  Medicus  ;  and 
4  order  was  taken  that  twelve  of  the  Brethren  should  be  ap- 
6  pointed  against  midnight,  who  were  strong  for  carrying  the 
'  pannel-planks  of  the  Shrine,  and  skilful  in  unfixing  them, 

*  and  putting  them  together  again.    The  Abbot  then  said  that 

*  it  was  among  his  prayers  to  look  once  upon  the  Body  of  his 

*  Patron  ;  and  that  he  wished  the  Sacristan  and  Walter  the 
'  Medicus  to  be  with  him.  The  Twelve  appointed  Brethren 
'  were  these  :  The  Abbot's  two  Chaplains,  the  two  Keepers  of 
'  the  Shrine,  the  two  Masters  of  the  Vestry  ;  and  six  more, 

*  namely,  the  Sacristan  Hugo,  Walter  the  Medicus,  Augustin, 
'  William  of  Dice,  Kobert,  and  Bichard.    I  alas,  was  not  of 

*  the  number. 

'  The  Convent  therefore  being  all  asleep,  these  Twelve, 
6  clothed  in  their  albs,  with  the  Abbot,  assembled  at  the 
6  Altar  ;  and  opening  a  pannel  of  the  Shrine,  they  took  out 
'  the  Loculus  ;  laid  it  on  a  table,  near  where  the  Shrine  used 
'  to  be  ;  and  made  ready  for  unfastening  the  lid,  which  was 
6  joined  and  fixed  to  the  Loculus  with  sixteen  very  long  nails. 
'  Which  when,  with  difficulty,  they  had  done,  all  except  the 
'  two  forenamed  associates  are  ordered  to  draw  back.  The 
6  Abbot  and  they  two  were  alone  privileged  to  look  in.  The 
'  Loculus  was  so  filled  with  the  Sacred  Body  that  you  could 
'  scarcely  put  a  needle  between  the  head  and  the  wood,  or 
£  between  the  feet  and  the  wood  :  the  head  lay  united  to  the 
'  body,  a  little  raised  with  a  small  pillow.  But  the  Abbot, 
fi  looking  close,  found  now  a  silk  cloth  veiling  the  whole  Body, 
'  and  then  a  linen  cloth  of  wondrous  whiteness  ;  and  upon  the 
'  head  was  spread  a  small  linen  cloth,  and  then  another  small 
c  and  most  fine  silk  cloth,  as  if  it  were  the  veil  of  a  nun. 
£  These  coverings  being  lifted  off,  they  found  now  the  Sacred 
•  '  Body  all  wrapt  in  linen  ;  and  so  at  length  the  lineaments 
'  of  the  same  appeared.    But  here  the  Abbot  stopped  ;  saying 

*  he  durst  not  proceed  farther,  or  look  at  the  sacred  flesh 


120 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


(  naked.  Taking  the  head  between  his  hands,  he  thus  spake 
1  groaning  :  "  Glorious  Martyr,  holy  Edmund,  blessed  be  the 
c  hour  when  thou  wert  born.  Glorious  Martyr,  turn  it  not  to 
c  my  perdition  that  I  have  so  dared  to  touch  thee,  I  miserable 
e  and  sinful ;  thou  knowest  my  devout  love,  and  the  intention  of 
'  my  mind."  And  proceeding,  he  touched  the  eyes  ;  and  the 
£  nose,  which  was  very  massive  and  prominent  {calde  grossum 
(  et  valde  eminentem) ;  and  then  he  touched  the  breast  and 
6  arms  ;  and  raising  the  left  arm  he  touched  the  fingers,  and 
'  placed  his  own  fingers  between  the  sacred  fingers.  And 
6  proceeding  he  found  the  feet  standing  stiff  up,  like  the  feet 
£  of  a  man  dead  yesterday  ;  and  he  touched  the  toes,  and 
'  counted  them  (tangendo  numeravit). 

■  And  now  it  was  agreed  that  the  other  Brethren  should  bo 
'  called  forward  to  see  the  miracles  ;  and  accordingly  those 
c  ten  now  advanced,  and  along  with  them  six  others  who  had 
'  stolen  in  without  the  Abbot's  assent,  namely,  Walter  of  St. 
<  Alban's,  Hugh  the  Infirmirarius,  Gilbert  brother  of  the  Prior, 
'  Richard  of  Henham,  Jocellus  our  cellarer,  and  Turstan  the 
'  Little  ;  and  all  these  saw  the  Sacred  Body,  but  Turstan  alone 
c  of  them  put  forth  his  hand,  and  touched  the  Saint's  knees 
c  and  feet.  And  that  there  might  be  abundance  of  witnesses, 
c  one  of  our  Brethren,  John  of  Dice,  sitting  on  the  roof  of  the 
'  Church,  with  the  servants  of  the  Vestry,  and  looking  through, 
c  clearly  saw  all  these  things.' 

What  a  scene  ;  shining  luminous  effulgent,  as  the  lamps  of 
St.  Edmund  do,  through  the  dark  Night  ;  John  of  Dice,  with 
vestrymen,  clambering  on  the  roof  to  look  through  ;  the  Con- 
vent all  asleep,  and  the  Earth  all  asleep, — and  since  then, 
Seven  Centuries  of  Time  mostly  gone  to  sleep  !  Yes,  there, 
sure  enough,  is  the  martyred  Body  of  Edmund  landlord  of 
the  Eastern  Counties,  who,  nobly  doing  what  he  liked  with 
his  own,  was  slain  three  hundred  years  ago  :  and  a  noble  awe 
surrounds  the  memory  of  him,  symbol  and  promoter  of  many 
other  right  noble  things. 

But  have  not  we  now  advanced  to  strange  new  stages  of 
Hero-worship,  now  in  the  little  Church  of  Hampden,  with  our 


m\  EDMUND. 


121 


pen-knives  out,  and  twelve  grave-diggers  with  pulleys  ?  The 
manner  of  men's  Hero-worship,  verily  it  is  the  innermost  fact 
of  their  existence,  and  determines  all  the  rest, — at  public 
hustings,  in  private  drawing-rooms,  in  church,  in  market,  and 
wherever  else.  Have  true  reverence,  and  what  indeed  is  in- 
separable therefrom,  reverence  the  right  man,  all  is  well  ; 
have  sham-reverence,  and  what  also  follows,  greet  with  it  the 
wrong  man,  then  all  is  ill,  and  there  is  nothing  well.  Alas,  if 
Hero-worship  become  Dilettantism,  and  all  except  Mammon- 
ism  be  a  Vain  grimace,  how  much,  in  this  most  earnest  Earth, 
has  gone  and  is  evermore  going  to  fatal  destruction,  and  lies 
wasting  in  quiet  lazy  ruin,  no  man  regarding  it !  Till  at 
length  no  heavenly  Ism  any  longer  coming  down  upon  us, 
Isms  from  the  other  quarter  have  to  mount  up.  For  the 
Earth,  I  say,  is  an  earnest  place  ;  Life  is  no  grimace,  but  a 
most  serious  fact.  And  so,  under  universal  Dilettantism  much 
having  been  stript  bare,  not  the  souls  of  men  only,  but  their 
very  bodies  and  bread-cupboards  having  been  stript  bare,  and 
life  now  no  longer  possible, — all  is  reduced  to  desperation,  to 
the  iron  law  of  Necessity  and  very  Fact  again  ;  and  to  temper 
Dilettantism,  and  astonish  it,  and  burn  it  up  with  infernal 
fire,  arises  Chartism,  Bare- back-ism,  Sansculottism  so-called  ! 
May  the  gods,  and  what  of  unworshipped  heroes  still  remain 
among  us,  avert  the  omen. — 

But  however  this  may  be,  St.  Edmund's  Loculus,  we  find, 
has  the  veils  of  silk  and  linen  reverently  replaced,  the  lid  fast- 
ened down  again  with  its  sixteen  ancient  nails  ;  is  wrapt  in 
a  new  costly  covering  of  silk,  the  gift  of  Hubert  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury :  and  through  the  sky-window  John  of  Dice 
sees  it  lifted  to  its  place  in  the  Shrine,  the  pannels  of  this  lat- 
ter duly  refixed,  fit  parchment  documents  being  introduced 
withal  ; — and  now  John  and  his  vestrymen*  can  slide  down 
from  the  roof,  for  all  is  over,  and  the  Convent  wholly  awakens 
to  matins.  '  When  we  assembled  to  sing  matins,'  says  Joce- 
lin,  £  and  understood  what  had  been  done,  grief  took  hold  of 
'  all  that  had  -not  seen  these  things,  each  saying  to  himself, 
'  "  Alas,  I  was  deceived."    Matins  over,  the  Abbot  called  the 


122 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


1  Convent  to  the  great  Altar  ;  and  briefly  recounting  the  mat- 
'  ter,  alleged  that  it  had  not  been  in  his  power,  nor  was  it 
'  permissible  or  fit,  to  invite  us  all  to  the  sight  of  such  things. 
*  At  hearing  of  which,  we  all  wept,  and  with  tears  sang  Tc 
'  Deum  laudamus ;  and  hastened  to  toll  the  bells  in  the 
<  Choir.' 

Stupid  blockheads,  to  reverence  their  St.  Edmund's  dead 
Body  in  this  manner?  Yes,  brother  ;  — and  yet,  on  the  whole, 
who  knows  how  to  reverence  the  Body  of  a  Man  ?  It  is  the 
most  reverend  phenomenon  under  this  Sun.  For  the  Highest 
God  dwells  visible  in  that  mystic  unfathomable  Visibility, 
which  calls  itself  "I"  on  the  Earth.  'Bending  before  men/ 
says  Novalis,  6  is  a  reverence  done  to  this  Revelation  in  the 
'  Flesh.  We  touch  Heaven  when  wTe  lay  our  hand  on  a  hu- 
■  man  Body/  And  the  Body  of  one  Dead ;— a  temple  where 
the  Hero-soul  once  was  and  now  is  not :  Oh,  all  mystery,  all 
pity,  all  mute  awe  and  wonder ;  Super  naturalism  brought 
home  to  the  very  dullest ;  Eternity  laid  open,  and  the  nether 
Darkness  and  the  upper  Light-Kingdoms  ;  do  cod  join  there, 
or  exist  nowhere  !  Sauerteig  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  pecu- 
liar way  :  "  A  Chancery  Lawsuit ;  justice,  nay  justice  in  mere 
money,  denied  a  man,  for  all  his  pleading,  till  twenty,  till 
forty  years  of  his  Life  are  gone  seeking  it :  and  a  Cockney 
Funeral,  Death  reverenced  by  hatchments,  horse-hair,  brass- 
lacker,  and  unconcerned  bipeds  carrying  long  poles  and  bags 
of  black  silk : — are  not  these  two  reverences,  this  reverence 
for  Death  and  that  reverence  for  Life,  a  notable  pair  of  rever- 
ences among  you  English  ?  " 

Abbot  Samson,  at  this  culminating  point  of  his  existence, 
may,  and  indeed  must,  be  left  to  vanish  with  his  Life-scenery 
from  the  eyes  of  modern  men.  He  had  to  run  into  France  to 
settle  with  King*  Richard  for  the  military  service  there  of  his 
St.  Edmundsbury  Knights ;  and  with  great  labor  got  it  done. 
He  had  to  decide  on  the  dilapidated  Coventry  Monks  ;  and 
with  great  labour,  and  much  pleading  and  journeying,  got 
them  reinstated  ;  dined  with  them  all,  and  with  the  '  Masters 
of  the  Schools  of  Oxneford/ — the  veritable  Oxford  Caput  sit- 


THE  BEGINNINGS. 


123 


ting  there  at  dinner,  in  a  dim  but  undeniable  manner,  in  the 
City  of  Peeping  Tom !  He  had,  not  without  labour,  to  con- 
trovert the  intrusive  Bishop  of  Ely,  the  intrusive  Abbot  of 
Ciuny.  Magnanimous  Samson,  his  life  is  but  a  labour  and  a 
journey ;  a  bustling  and  a  justling,  till  the  still  Night  come. 
He  is  sent  for  again,  over  sea,  to  advise  King  Richard  touch- 
ing certain  Peers  of  England,  who  had  taken  the  Cross,  but 
never  followed  it  to  Palestine ;  whom  the  Pope  is  inquiring 
after.  The  magnanimous  Abbot  makes  preparation  for  de- 
parture ;  departs,  and  And  Jocelin's  Boswellean  Narra- 
tive, suddenly  shorn  through  by  the  scissors  of  Destiny,  ends. 
There  are  no  words  more  ;  but  a  black  line,  and  leaves  of 
blank  paper.  Irremediable  :  the  miraculous  hand  that  held 
all  this  theatric  machinery  suddenly  quits  hold  ;  impenetrable 
Time-Curtains  rush  down  ;  in  the  mind's  eye  all  is  again  dark, 
void  ;  with  loud  dinning  in  the  mind's  ear,  our  real-phantas- 
magory  of  St.  Edmundsbury  plunges  into  the  bosom  of  the 
Twelfth  Century  again,  and  all  is  over.  Monks,  Abbot,  Hero- 
worship,  Government,  Obedience,  Cceur-de-Lion  and  St.  Ed- 
mund's Shrine,  vanish  like  Mirza's  Vision ;  and  there  is 
nothing  left  but  a  mutilated  black  Ruin  amid  green  botanic 
expanses,  and  oxen,  sheep  and  dilettanti  pasturing  in  their 
places. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  BEGINNINGS. 

What  a  singular  shape  of  a  Man,  shape  of  a  Time,  have  we 
in  this  Abbot  Samson  and  his  history  ;  how  strangely  do 
modes,  creeds,  formularies,  and  the  date  and  place  of  a  man's 
birth,  modify  the  figure  of  the  man  ! 

Formulas  too,  as  we  call  them,  have  a  reality  in  Human  Life. 
They  are  real  as  the  very  skin  and  muscular  tissue  of  a  Man's 
Life  ;  and  a  most  blessed  indispensable  thing,  so  long  as  they 
have  vitality  withal,  and  are  a  living  skin  and  tissue  to  him  ! 
No  man,  or  man's  life,  can  go  abroad  and  do  business  in  the 
world  without  skin  and  tissues.  No  ;  first  of  all,  these  have 
to  fashion  themselves, — as  indeed  they  spontaneously  and  in- 


124 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


evitably  do.  Foam  itself,  and  this  is  worth  thinking  of,  can 
harden  into  oyster-shell ;  all  living  objects  do  by  necessity 
form  to  themselves  a  skin. 

And  yet,  again,  when  a  man's  Formulas  become  dead ;  as 
all  Formulas,  in  the  progress  of  living  growth,  are  very  sure 
to  do  !  When  the  poor  man's  integuments,  no  longer  nour- 
ished from  within,  become  dead  skin,  mere  adscititious  leather 
and  callosity,  wearing  thicker  and  thicker,  uglier  and  uglier ; 
till  no  heart  any  longer  can  be  felt  beating  through  them,  so 
thick,  callous,  calcined  are  they  ;  and  all  over  it  has  now 
grown  mere  calcified  oyster- shell,  or  were  it  polished  mother- 
of-pearl,  inwards  almost  to  the  very  heart  of  the  poor  man  : — 
yes  then,  you  may  say,  his  usefulness  once  more  is  quite  ob- 
structed ;  once  more,  he  cannot  go  abroad  and  do  business  in 
the  world  ;  it  is  time  that  he  take  to  bed,  and  prepare  for  de- 
parture, which  cannot  now  be  distant. 

Ubi  homines  sunt  modi  sunt.  Habit  is  the  deepest  law  of 
human  nature.  It  is  our  supreme  strength  ;  if  also,  in  certain 
circumstances,  our  miserablest  weakness. — From  Stoke  to 
Stowe  is  as  yet  a  field,  all  pathless,  untrodden  :  from  Stoke 
where  I  live,  to  Stowe  where  I  have  to  make  my  merchandises, 
perform  my  businesses,  consult  my  heavenly  oracles,  there  is  as 
yet  no  path  or  human  footprint ;  and  I,  impelled  by  such  ne- 
cessities, must  nevertheless  undertake  the  journey.  Let  me 
go  once,  scanning  my  way  with  any  earnestness  of  outlook, 
and  successfully  arriving,  my  footprints  are  an  invitation  to 
me  a  second  time  to  go  by  the  same  way.  It  is  easier  than 
any  other  way :  the  industry  of  '  scanning '  lies  already  in- 
vested in  it  for  me  ;  I  can  go  this  time  with  less  of  scanning, 
or  without  scanning  at  all.  Nay,  the  very  sight  of  my  foot- 
prints, what  a  comfort  for  me  ;  and  in  a  degree,  for  all  my 
brethren  of  mankind  !  The  footprints  are  trodden  and  re- 
trodden ;  the  path  wears  ever  broader,  smoother,  into  a  broad 
highway,  where  even  wheels  can  run  ;  and  many  travel  it ; — 
till— till  the  Town  of  Stowe  disappear  from  that  locality  (as 
towns  have  been  known  to  do),  or  no  merchandising,  heavenly 
oracle,  or  real  business  any  longer  exist  for  one  there  :  then 
why  should  anybody  travel  the  way  ?— Habit  is  our  primal, 


THE  BEGINNINGS. 


125 


fundamental  law  ;  Habit  and  Imitation,  there  is  nothing  more 
perennial  in  us  than  these  two.  They  are  the  source  of  all 
"Working  and  all  Apprenticeship,  of  all  Practice  and  all  Learn- 
ing, in  this  world. 

Yes,  the  wise  man  too  speaks,  and  acts,  in  Formulas ;  all 
men  do  so.  And  in  general,  the  more  completely  cased  with 
Formulas  a  man  may  be,  the  safer,  happier  is  it  for  him.  Thou 
who,  in  an  All  of  rotten  Formulas,  seemest  to  stand  nigh  bare, 
having  indignantly  shaken  off  the  superannuated  rags  and 
unsound  callosities  of  Formulas, — consider  how  thou  too  art 
still  clothed  !  This  English  Nationality,  whatsoever  from  un- 
counted ages  is  genuine  and  a  fact  among  thy  native  People, 
in  their  words  and  ways  :  all  this,  has  it  not  made  for  thee  a 
skin  or  second-skin,  adhesive  actually  as  thy  natural  skin  ? 
This  thou  hast  not  stript  off,  this  thou  wilt  never  strip  off  : 
the  humour  that  thy  mother  gave  thee  has  to  shew  itself 
through  this.  A  common,  or  it  may  be  an  uncommon  Eng- 
lishman thou  art  :  but  good  Heavens,  what  sort  of  Arab, 
Chinaman,  Jew-Clothesman,  Turk,  Hindoo,  African  Mandingo, 
Avouldst  thou  have  been,  thou  with  those  mother-qualities  of 
thine  ! 

It  strikes  me  dumb  to  look  over  the  long  series  of  faces, 
such  as  any  full  Church,  Courthouse,  London-Tavern  Meeting, 
or  miscellany  of  men  will  show  them.  Some  score  or  two  of 
years  ago  all  these  were  little  red-coloured  pulpy  infants  ; 
each  of  them  capable  of  being  kneaded,  baked  into  any  social 
form  you  chose  :  yet  I  see  now  how  they  are  fixed  and  hard- 
ened,— into  artisans,  artists,  clergy,  gentry,  learned  sergeants, 
unlearned  dandies,  and  can  and  shall  now  be  nothing  else 
henceforth  ! 

Mark  on  that  nose  the  colour  left  by  too  copious  port  and 
viands  ;  to  which  the  profuse  cravat  with  exorbitant  breastpin, 
and  the  fixed,  forward,  and  as  it  were  menacing  glance  of  the 
eyes  correspond.  That  is  a  c  Man  of  Business  ; '  prosperous 
manufacturer,  house-contractor,  engineer,  law-manager  ;  his 
eye,  nose,  cravat  have,  in  such  work  and  fortune,  got  such 
a  character  :  deny  him  not  thy  praise,  thy  pity.  Pity  him  too, 
the  Hard-handed,  with  bony  brow,  rudely  combed  hair,  eyes 


12G 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


looking  out  as  in  labour,  in  difficulty  and  uncertainty  ;  rude 
mouth,  the  lips  coarse,  loose,  as  in  hard  toil  and  lifelong 
fatigue  they  have  got  the  habit  of  hanging  :  hast  thou  seen 
aught  more  touching  than  the  rude  intelligence,  so  cramped, 
yet  energetic,  unsubduable,  true,  which  looks  out  of  that 
marred  visage  ?  Alas,  and  his  poor  wife,  with  her  own  hands, 
washed  that  cotton  neckcloth  for  him,  buttoned  that  coarse 
shirt,  sent  him  forth  creditably  trimmed  as  she  could.  In 
such  imprisonment  lives  he,  for  his  part ;  man  cannot  now 
deliver  him  :  the  red  pulpy  infant  has  been  baked  and  fash- 
ioned so. 

Or  what  kind  of  baking  was  it  tliat  this  other  brother-mor- 
tal got,  which  has  baked  him  into  the  genus  Dandy?  Elegant 
Vacuum  ;  serenely  looking  down  upon  all  Plenums  and  En- 
tities, as  low  and  poor  to  his  serene  Chimera-skip  and  Nonen- 
tity laboriously  attained  !  Heroic  Vacuum  ;  inexpugnable, 
■while  purse  and  present  condition  of  society  hold  out  ;  cura- 
ble by  no  hellebore.  The  doom  of  Fate  was,  Be  thou  a  Dandy  ! 
Have  thy  eye-glasses,  opera-glasses,  thy  Long-Acre  cabs  with 
white-breeched  tiger,  thy  yawning  impassivities,  pococurante 
isms  ;  fix  thyself  in  Dandyhood  undeliverable  ;  it  is  thy  doom. 

And  all  these,  we  say,  were  red-coloured  infants  ;  of  the 
same  pulp  and  stuff,  few  years  ago  ;  now  irretrievably  shaped 
and  kneaded  as  we  see  !  Formulas  ?  There  is  no  mortal  ex- 
tant, out  of  the  depths  of  Bedlam,  but  lives  all  skinned, 
thatched,  covered  over  with  Formulas  ;  and  is,  as  it  were,  held 
in  from  delirium  and  the  Inane  by  his  Formulas  !  They  are 
withal  the  most  beneficent,  indispensable  of  human  equip- 
ments :  blessed  he  who  has  a  skin  and  tissues,  so  it  be  a  liv- 
ing one  ;  and  the  heart-pulse  everywhere  discernible  through 
it.  Monachism,  Feudalism,  with  a  real  King  Plantagenet, 
with  real  Abbots  Samson,  and  their  other  living  realities,  how 
blessed  ! — 

Not  without  a  mournful  interest  have  we  surveyed  that  au- 
thentic image  of  a  Time  now  wkolly  swallowed.  Mournful 
reflections  crowd  on  us  ; — and  yet  consolatory.  How  many 
brave  men  kave  lived  before  Agamemnon  !    Here  is  a  brave 


THE  BEGINNINGS. 


12? 


governor  Samson,  a  man  fearing  God,  and  fearing  nothing  else  ; 
of  whom  as  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  as  King,  Chief,  Edi- 
tor, High  Priest,  we  could  be  so  glad  and  proud  ;  of  whom 
nevertheless  Fame  has  altogether  forgotten  to  make  mention  ! 
The  faint  image  of  him,  revived  in  this  hour,  is  found  in  the 
gossip  of  one  poor  Monk,  and  in  Nature  nowhere  else.  Ob 
livion  had  so  nigh  swallowed  him  altogether,  even  to  the  echo 
of  his  ever  having  existed.  "What  regiments  and  hosts  and 
generations  of  such  has  Oblivion  already  swallowed  !  Their 
crumbled  dust  makes  up  the  soil  our  life  fruit  grows  on.  Said 
I  not,  as  my  old  Norse  Fathers  taught. me,  The  Life-tree  Igdra- 
sil,  which  waves  round  thee  in  this  hour,  whereof  thou  in  this 
hour  art  portion,  has  its  roots  down  deep  in  the  oldest  Death- 
Kingdoms  ;  and  grows  ;  the  Three  Nomas,  or  Times,  Past, 
Present,  Future,  watering  it  from  the  Sacred  Well ! 

For  example,  who  taught  thee  to  speak  ?  From  the  day 
when  two  hairy-naked  or  fig-leaved  Human  Figures  began,  as 
uncomfortable  dummies,  anxious  no  longer  to  be  dumb,  but 
to  impart  themselves  to  one  another  ;  and  endeavoured,  with 
gaspings,  gesturings,  with  un syllabled  cries,  with  painful  pan- 
tomime and  interjections,  in  a  very  unsuccessful  manner, — up 
to  the  writing  of  this  present  copyright  Book,  which  also  is 
not  very  successful !  Between  that  day  and  this,  I  say,  there 
has  been  a  pretty  space  of  time  ;  a  pretty  spell  of  work,  which 
somebody  has  done !  Thinkest  thou  there  were  no  poets  till 
Dan  Chaucer  ?  No  heart  burning  with  a  thought,  which  it 
could  not  hold,  and  had  no  word  for  ;  and  needed  to  shape 
and  coin  a  word  for, — what  thou  callest  a  metaphor,  trope,  or 
the  like  ?  For  eve^  word  we  have,  there  was  such  a  man  and 
poet.  The  coldest  word  was  once  a  glowing  new  metaphor, 
and  bold  questionable  originality.  '  Thy  very  attention,  does 
it  not  mean  an  aUentio,  &  stretching-to  ? '  Fancy  that  act  of 
the  mind,  which  all  were  conscious  of,  which  none  had  yet 
named, — when  this  new  6  poet '  first  felt  bound  and  driven  to 
name  it !  His  questionable  originality,  and  new  glowing  met- 
aphor, was  found  adoptable,  intelligible  ;  and  remains  our 
name  for  it  to  this  day. 

Literature  : — and  look  at  Paul's  Cathedral,  and  the  Mason* 


328 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


ries  and  Worships  and  Quasi-Worships  that  are  there  ;  not 
to  speak  of  Westminster  Hall  and  its  wings !  Men  had  not 
a  hammer  to  begin  with,  not  a  syllabled  articulation,:  they 
had  it  all  to  make  ; — and  they  have  made  it.  What  thous- 
and thousand  articulate,  semi-articulate,  earnest- stammering 
Prayers  ascending  up  to  Heaven,  from  hut  and  cell,  in  many 
lands,  in  many  centuries,  from  the  fervent  kindled  souls  of 
innumerable  men,  each  struggling  to  pour  itself  forth  incom- 
pletely as  it  might,  before  the  incompletest  Liturgy  could  be 
compiled  !  The  Liturgy,  or  adoptable  and  generally  adopted 
Set  of  Prayers  and  Prayer-Method,  was  what  we  can  call  the 
Select  Adoptabilities,  '  Select  Beauties '  well-edited  (by  (Ecu- 
menic Councils  and  other  Useful-Knowledge  Societies)  from 
that  wide  waste  imbroglio  of  Prayers  already  extant  and  ac- 
cumulated, good  and  bad.  The  good  were  found  adoptable 
by  men  ;  were  gradually  got  together,  well-edited,  accredited : 
the  bad,  found  inappropriate,  unadoptable,  were  gradually 
forgotten,  disused  and  burnt.  It  is  the  way  with  human 
things.  The  first  man  who,  looking  with  opened  soul  on  this 
august  Heaven  and  Earth,  this  Beautiful  and  Awful,  which 
we  name  Nature,  Universe  and  such  like,  the  essence  of  which 
remains  forever  Unnameable  ;  he  who  first,  gazing  into  this, 
fell  on  his  knees  awestruck,  in  silence  as  is  likeliest, — he, 
driven  by  inner  necessity,  the  'audacious  original'  that  he 
was,  had  done  a  thing,  too,  which  all  thoughtful  hearts  saw 
straightway  to  be  an  expressive,  altogether  adoptable  thing  ! 
To  bow  the  knee  was  ever  since  the  attitude  of  supplication. 
Earlier  than  any  spoken  Prayers,  Litanias,  or  Leitourgias  ;  the 
beginning  of  all  Worship, — which  needed  but  a  beginning,  so 
rational  was  it.  What  a  poet  he  !  Yes,  this  bold  original  was 
a  successful  one  withal.  The  wellhead  this  one,  hidden  in  the 
primeval  dusks  and  distances,  from  whom  as  from  a  Nile-source 
all  Forms  of  Worship  now  : — such  a  Nile -river  (somewhat 
muddy  and  malarious  now !)  of  Forms  of  Worship  sprang 
there,  and  flowed,  and  flows,  down  to  Puseyism,  Rotatory 
Calabash,  Archbishop  Laud  at  St.  Catherine  Creed's,  and  per- 
haps lower ! 

Things  rise,  I  say,  in  that  way.    The  Iliad  Poem,  and  in- 


THE  BEGINNINGS. 


129 


deed  most  other  poetic,  especially  epic  things,  have  risen  as 
the  Liturgy  did.  The  great  Iliad  in  Greece,  and  the  small 
Robin  Hood's  Garland  in  England,  are  each,  as  I  understand, 
the  well-edited  '  Select  Beauties '  of  an  immeasurable  waste 
imbroglio  of  Heroic  Ballads  in  their  respective  centuries. and 
countries.  Think  what  strumming  of  the  seven-stringed  he- 
roic lyre,  torturing  of  the  less  heroic  fiddle-catgut,  in  Hellenic 
Kings'  Courts,  and  English  wayside  Public  Houses  ;  and 
beating  of  the  studious  Poetic  brain,  and  gasping  here  too  in 
the  s*mi- articulate  windpipe  of  Poetic  men,  before  the  Wrath 
of  a  Divine  Achilles,  the  Prowess  of  a  Will  Scarlet  or  Wake- 
field Pinder,  could  be  adequately  sung !  Honour  to  you,  ye 
nameless  great  and  greatest  ones,  ye  long-forgotten  brave ! 

Nor  was  the  Statute  De  Tallagio  non  concedendo,  nor  any 
Statute,  Law-method,  Lawyer's- wig,  much  less  were  the  Sta- 
tute-Book and  Four  Courts,  with  Coke  upon  Lyttleton  and 
Three  Estates  of  Parliament  in  the  rear  of  them,  got  together 
without  human  labour, — mostly  forgotten  now !  From  the 
time  of  Cain's  slaying  Abel  by  swift  head-breakage,  to  this 
time  of  killing  your  man  in  Chancery  by  inches,  and  slow 
heart-break  for  forty  years, — there  too  is  an  interval !  Ven- 
erable Justice  herself  began  by  Wild  Justice  ;  all  Law  is  as  a 
tamed  furrowfield,  slowly  worked  out,  and  rendered  arable, 
from  the  waste  jungle  of  Club-La w.  Valiant  Wisdom  tilling 
and  draining  ;  escorted  by  owl-  eyed  Pedantry,  by  owlish  and 
vulturish  and  many  other  forms  of  Folly  ; — the  valiant  hus- 
bandman assiduously  tilling  ;  the  blind  greedy  enemy  too  as- 
siduously sowing  tares  !  It  is  because  there  is  yet  in  vener- 
able wigged  Justice  some  wisdom,  amid  such  mountains  of 
wiggeries  and  folly,  that  men  have  not  cast  her  into  the 
River ;  that  she  still  sits  there,  like  Dryden's  Head  in  the 
Battle  of  the  Books, — a  huge  helmet,  a  huge  mountain  of 
greased  parchment,  of  unclean  horsehair,  first  striking  the 
eye  ;  and  then  in  the  innermost  corner,  visible  at  last,  in  size 
as  a  hazelnut,  a  real  fraction  of  God's  Justice,  perhaps  not  yet 
unattainable  to  some,  surely  still  indispensable  to  all ; — and 
men  know  not  what  to  do  with  her  !  Lawyers  were  not  all 
pedants,  voluminous  voracious  persons  ;  Lawyers  too  were 
9 


130 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


poets,  were  heroes, — or  their  Law  had  been  past  the  Nora 
long  before  this  time.  Their  Owlisms,  Vulturisms,  to  an  in- 
credible extent,  will  disappear  by  and  by,  their  Heroisms  only 
remaining,  and  the  helmet  be  reduced  to  something  like  the 
size  of  the  head,  we  hope  ! — 

It  is  all  work  and  forgotten  work,  this  peopled,  clothed, 
articulate-speaking,  high-towered,  wide-acred  World.  The 
hands  of  forgotten  brave  men  have  made  it  a  World  for  us  ; 
they, — honour  to  them  ;  they,  in  spite  of  the  idle  and  the 
dastard.  This  English  Land,  here  and  now,  is  the  summary 
of  what  was  found  of  wise,  and  noble,  and  accordant  with 
God's  Truth,  in  all  the  generations  of  English  Men.  Our 
English  Speech  is  speakable  because  there  were  Hero-Poets 
of  our  blood  and  lineage  ;  speakable  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  these.  This  Land  of  England  has  its  conquerors, 
possessors,  which  change  from  epoch  to  epoch,  from  day  to 
day  ;  but  its  real  conquerors,  creators,  and  eternal  proprietors 
are  these  following,  and  their  representatives  if  you  can  find 
them  :  All  the  Heroic  Souls  that  ever  were  in  England,  each 
in  their  degree  ;  all  the  men  that  ever  cut  a  thistle,  drained 
a  puddle  out  of  England,  contrived  a  wise  scheme  in  England, 
did  or  said  a  true  and  valiant  thing  in  England.  I  tell  thee, 
they  had  not  a  hammer  to  begin  with  ;  and  yet  Wren  built  St. 
Paul's  :  not  an  articulated  syllable  ;  and  yet  there  have  come 
English  Literatures,  Elizabethan  Literatures,  Satanic-School, 
Cockney-School  and  other  Literatures  ; — once  more,  as  in  the 
old  time  of  the  Leitourgia,  a  most  waste  imbroglio,  and  world- 
wide jungle  and  jumble  waiting  terrible  to  be  '  well-edited,' 
and  '  well-burnt ! '  Arachne  started  with  forefinger  and  thumb, 
and  had  not  even  a  distaff ;  yet  thou  seest  Manchester,  and 
Cotton  Cloth,  which  will  shelter  naked  backs,  at  twopence  an 
ell. 

Work  ?  The  quantity  of  clone  and  forgotten  work  that  lies 
silent  under  my  feet  in  this  world,  and  escorts  and  attends  me, 
and  supports  and  keeps  me  alive,  wheresoever  I  walk  or  stand, 
whatsoever  I  think  or  do,  gives  rise  to  reflections !  Is  it  not 
enough,  at  any  rate,  to  strike  the  thing  called  1  Fame '  into 
total  silence  for  a  wise  man  ?    For  fools  and  unreflective  per- 


THE  BEGINNINGS. 


131 


sons,  she  is  and  will  be  very  noisy,  this  'Fame,'  and  talks  of 
her  '  immortals,'  and  so  forth  :  but  if  you  will  consider  it,  what 
is  she  ?  Abbot  Samson  was  not  nothing  because  nobody  said 
anything  of  him.  Or  thinkest  thou,  the  Eight  Honourable  Sir 
Jabesh  Windbag  can  be  made  something  by  Parliamentary 
Majorities  and  Leading  Articles  ?  Her  £  immortals  ! '  Scarcely 
two  hundred  years  back  can  Fame  recollect  articulately  at  all ; 
and  there  she  but  maunders  and  mumbles.  She  manages  to 
recollect  a  Shakspeare  or  so  ;  and  prates,  considerably  like 
a  goose,  about  him  ;  —and  in  the  rear  of  that,  onwards  to  the 
birth  of  Theuth,  to  Hengst's  Invasion,  and  the  bosom  of  Eter- 
nity, it  was  all  blank  ;  and  the  respectable  Teutonic  Languages, 
Teutonic  Practices,  Existences,  all  came  of  their  own  accord, 
as  the  grass  springs,  as  the  trees  grow  ;  no  Poet,  no  work  from 
the  inspired  heart  of  a  Man  needed  there  ;  and  Fame  has  not 
an  articulate  word  to  say  about  it !  Or  ask  her,  What,  with 
all  conceivable  appliances  and  mnemonics,  including  apotheo- 
sis and  human  sacrifices  among  the  number,  she  carries  in  her 
head  with  regard  to  a  Wodan,  even  a  Moses,  or  other  such  ? 
She  begins  to  be  uncertain  as  to  what  they  were,  whether 
spirits  or  men  of  mould, — gods,  charlatans  ;  begins  sometimes 
to  have  a  misgiving  that  they  were  mere  symbols,  ideas  of  the 
mind  ;  perhaps  nonentities,  and  Letters  of  the  Alphabet !  She 
is  the  noisiest,  inarticulately  babbling,  hissing,  screaming, 
f oolishest,  unmusicalest  of  fowls  that  fly  ;  and  needs  no  £  trum- 
pet,' I  think,  but  her  own  enormous  goose-throat, — measur- 
ing several  degrees  of  celestial  latitude,  so  to  speak.  Her 
c  wings,'  in  these  days,  have  grown  far  swifter  than  ever  ;  but 
her  goose- throat  hitherto  seems  only  larger,  louder  and  fool- 
isher  than  ever.  She  is  transitory,  futile,  a  goose-goddess  :  — 
if  she  were  not  transitory,  what  would  become  of  us  !  It  is  a 
chief  comfort  that  she  forgets  us  all ;  all,  even  to  the  very  Wo- 
dans  ;  and  grows  to  consider  us,  at  last,  as  probably  non- 
entities and  Letters  of  the  Alphabet. 

Yes,  a  noble  Abbot  Samson  resigns  himself  to  Oblivion 
too  ;  feels  it  no  hardship,  but  a  comfort ;  counts  it  as  a  still 
resting-place,  from  much  sick  fret  and  fever  and  stupidity, 
which  in  the  night-watches  often  made  his  strong  heart  sigh, 


132 


THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 


Your  most  sweet  voices,  making  one  enormous  goose-voice,  0 
Bobus  and  Company,  how  can  they  be  a  guidance  for  any  Son 
of  Adam  ?  In  silence  of  you  and  the  like  of  you,  the  '  small  still 
voices '  will  speak  to  him  better  ;  in  which  does  lie  guidance. 

My  friend,  all  speech  and  rumor  is  shortlived,  foolish,  un- 
true. Genuine  Work  alone,  what  thou  workest  faithfully,  that 
is  eternal,  as  the  Almighty  Founder  and  World-Builder  him- 
self. Stand  thou  by  that ;  and  let  '  Fame'  and  the  rest  of  it 
go  prating. 

"  Heard  are  the  Voices, 
Heard  are  the  sages, 
The  worlds  and  the  ages  : 
4 'Choose  well,  your  choice  is 
Brief  and  yet  endless  ; 

Here  eyes  do  regard  you, 
In  Eternity's  stillness  ; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  yon  \ 
Work,  and  despair  not."  J* 


*  Goethe* 


BOOK  IIL 


THE  MODERN  WORKER, 


CHAPTER  I. 

PHENOMENA. 

But,  it  is  said,  our  religion  is  gone  ;  we  no  longer  believe  in 
St.  Edmund,  no  longer  see  the  figure  of  him  '  on  the  rim  of 
the  sky,'  minatory  or  confirmatory  !  God's  absolute  Laws, 
sanctioned  by  an  eternal  Heaven  and  an  eternal  Hell,  have 
become  Moral  Philosophies,  sanctioned  by  able  computations 
of  Profit  and  Loss,  by  weak  considerations  of  Pleasures  of 
Virtue  and  the  Moral  Sublime. 

It  is  even  so.  To  speak  in  the  ancient  dialect,  we  chave 
forgotten  God  ; ' — in  the  most  modern  dialect  and  very  truth 
of  the  matter,  we  have  taken  up  the  Fact  of  this  Universe  as  it 
is  not.  We  have  quietly  closed  our  eyes  to  the  eternal  Sub- 
stance of  things,  and  opened  them  only  to  the  Shews  and 
Shams  of  things.  We  quietly  believe  this  Universe  to  be  in- 
trinsically a  great  unintelligible  Perhaps  ;  extrinsically,  clear 
enough,  it  is  a  great,  most  extensive  Cattlefold  and  work- 
house, with  most  extensive  Kitchen-ranges,  Dining -tables, — 
whereat  he  is  wise  who  can  find  a  place  !  All  the  Truth  of 
this  Universe  is  uncertain  ;  only  the  profit  and  loss  of  it,  the 
pudding  and  praise  of  it,  are  and  remain  very  visible  to  the 
practical  man. 

There  is  no  longer  any  God  for  us  !  God's  Laws  are  become 
a  Greatest-Happiness  Principle,  a  Parliamentary  Expediency : 
the  Heavens  "overarch  us  only  as  an  Astronomical  Time-keeper ; 
a  butt  for  Herschel-telescopes  to  shoot  science  at,  to  shoot 


134 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


sentimentalities  at : — in  our  and  old  Johnson's  dialect,  man 
has  lost  the  soul  out  of  him  ;  and  now,  after  the  due  period,— 
begins  to  find  the  want  of  it !  This  is  verily  the  plague-spot ; 
centre  of  the  universal  Social  Gangrene,  threatening  all  mod- 
ern things  with  frightful  death.  To  him  that  will  consider  it, 
here  is  the  stem,  with  its  roots  and  taproot,  with  its  world- 
wide upas-boughs  and  accursed  poison  exudations,  under 
which  the  world  lies  writhing  in  apathy  and  agoiry.  You 
touch  the  focal-centre  of  all  our  diseases,  of  our  frightful 
nosology  of  diseases,  when  you  lay  your  hand  on  this.  There 
is  no  religion  ;  there  is  no  God  ;  man  has  lost  his  soul,  and 
vainly  seeks  antiseptic  salt.  Vainly  :  in  killing  Kings,  in  pass- 
ing Reform  Bills,  in  French  Revolutions,  Manchester  Insurrec- 
tions, is  found  no  remedy.  The  foul  elephantine  leprosy 
alleviated  for  an  hour,  reappears  in  new  force  and  desperate 
ness  next  hour. 

For  actually  this  is  not  the  real  fact  of  the  world  ;  the  world 
is  not  made  so,  but  otherwise  ! — Truly,  any  Society  setting 
out  from  this  No-God  hypothesis  will  arrive  at  a  result  or  two. 
The  Un veracities,  escorted,  each  Unveracity  of  them  by  its 
corresponding  Misery  and  Penalty  ;  the  Phantasms,  and  Fatui- 
ties, and  ten-years  Corn-Law  Debatings,  that  shall  walk  the 
Earth  at  noonday, — must  needs  be  numerous  !  The  Universe 
being  intrinsically  a  Perhaps,  being  too  probably  an  c  infinite 
Humbug,'  why  should  any  minor  Humbug  astonish  us  ?  It  is 
all  according  to  the  order  of  Nature  ;  and  Phantasms  riding 
with  huge  clatter  along  the  streets,  from  end  to  end  of  our  ex- 
istence, astonish  nobody,  Enchanted  St.  Ives  Workhouses  and 
Joe-Manton  Aristocracies  ;  giant  "Working  Mammonism  near 
strangled  in  the  partridge-nets  of  giant-looking  Idle  Dilettant- 
ism,— this,  in  all  its  branches,  in  its  thousand  thousand  modes 
and  figures,  is  a  sight  familiar  to  us. 

The  Popish  Religion,  we  are  told,  flourishes  extremely  in 
these  years  ;  and  is  the  most  vivacious-looking  religion  to  be 
met  with  at  present.  <c  Elle  a  trois  cents  ans  dans  le  ventre' 
counts  M.  Jouffroy  ;  "  d est  pour quoi  je  la  respecte!" — The  old 
Pope  of  Rome,  finding  it  laborious  to  kneel  so  long  while  they 


PHENOMENA. 


135 


cart  him  through  the  streets  to  bless  the  people  on  Corpus- 
Christi  Day,  complains  of  rheumatism  ;  whereupon  his  Car- 
dinals consult ; — construct  him,  after  some  study,  a  stuffed 
cloaked  figure,  of  iron  and  wood,  with  wool  or  baked  hair  ; 
and  place  it  in  a  kneeling  posture.  Stuffed  figure,  or  rump 
of  a  figure  ;  to  this  stuffed  rump  he,  sitting  at  his  ease  on  a 
lower  level,  joins,  by  the  aid  of  cloaks  and  drapery,  his  living 
head  and  outspread  hands ;  the  rump  with  its  cloak  kneels, 
the  Pope  looks,  and  holds  his  hands  spread  ;  and  so  the  two 
in  concert  bless  the  Roman  population  on  Corpus- Christi  Day, 
as  well  as  they  can. 

I  have  considered  this  amphibious  Pope,  with  the  wool-and- 
iron back,  with  the  flesh  head  and  hands  ;  and  endeavoured 
to  calculate  his  horoscope.  I  reckon  him  the  remarkablest 
Pontiff  that  has  darkened  God's  daylight,  or  painted  himself 
in  the  human  retina,  for  these  several  thousand  years.  Nay, 
since  Chaos  first  shivered,  and  £  sneezed,'  as  the  Arabs  say,  with 
the  first  shaft  of  sunlight  shot  through  it,  what  stranger  pro- 
duct was  there  of  Nature  and  Art  working  together  ?  Here  is  a 
Supreme  Priest  who  believes  God  to  bo — What,  in  the  name 
of  God,  does  he  believe  God  to  be  ? — and  discerns  that  all  wor- 
ship of  God  is  a  scenic  phantasmagory  of  wax-candles,  organ- 
blasts,  Gregorian  Chants,  mass-brayings,  purple  monsignori, 
wool-and-iron  rumps,  artistically  spread  out, — to  save  the 
ignorant  from  worse. 

O  reader,  I  say  not  who  are  Belial's  elect.  This  poor  amphib- 
ious Pope  too  gives  loaves  to  the  Poor  ;  has  in  him  more 
good  latent  than  he  is  himself  aware  of.  His  poor  Jesuits, 
in  the  late  Italian  Cholera,  were,  with  a  few  German  Doctors, 
the  only  creatures  whom  dastard  terror  had  not  driven  mad  : 
they  descended  fearless  into  all  gulfs  and  bedlams  ;  watched 
over  the  pillow  of  the  dying,  with  help,  with  counsel  and 
hope  ;  shone  as  luminous  fixed  stars,  when  all  else  had  gone 
out  in  chaotic  night :  honour  to  them  !  This  Poor  Pope, — 
who  knows  what  good  is  in  him  ?  In  a  Time  otherwise  too 
prone  to  forget,  he  keeps  up  the  mournfulest  ghastly  memorial 
of  the  Highest,  Blessedest,  which  once  was  ;  which,  in  new 
fit  forms,  will  again  partly  have  to  be.    Is  he  not  as  a  perpet* 


136 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


ual  death's-head  and  cross-bones,  with  their  Resurgam,  on  tha 
grave  of  a  Universal  Heroism, — grave  of  a  Christianity  ?  Such 
Noblenesses,  purchased  by  the  world's  best  heart's -blood, 
must  not  be  lost  ;  we  cannot  afford  to  lose  them,  in  what 
confusions  soever.  To  all  of  us  the  day  will  come,  to  a  few 
of  us  it  has  already  come,  wThen  no  mortal,  with  his  heart 
yearning  for  a  'Divine  Humility,'  or  other  4  Highest  form  of 
Valour,'  will  need  to  look  for  it  in  death's  heads,  but  will  see 
it  round  him  in  here  and  there  a  beautiful  living  head. 

Besides,  there  is  in  this  poor  Pope,  and  his  practice  of  the 
Scenic  Theory  of  Worship,  a  frankness  which  I  rather  honour. 
Not  half  and  half,  but  with  undivided  heart  does  he  set  about 
worshipping  by  stage  machinery  ;  as  if  there  were  now,  and 
could  again  be,  in  Nature  no  other.  He  will  ask  you,  "What 
other?  Under  this  my  Gregorian  Chant,  and  beautiful  wax- 
light  Phantasmagory,  kindly  hidden  from  you  is  an  Abyss,  of 
black  Doubt,  Scepticism,  nay  Sansculottic  Jacobinism  ;  an 
Orcus  that  has  no  bottom.  Think  of  that.  '  Groby  Pool  is 
thatched  with  pancakes,' — as  Jeannie  Deans's  Innkeeper  defied 
it  to  be  !  The  Bottomless  of  Scepticism,  Atheism,  Jacobinism, 
behold,  it  is  thatched  over,  hidden  from  your  despair,  by 
stage-properties  judiciously  arranged.  This  stuffed  rump  of 
mine  saves  not  me  only  from  rheumatism,  but  you  also 
from  what  other  isms  1  In  this  your  Life-pilgrimage  No- 
whither,  a  fine  Squallacci  marching-music,  and  Gregorian 
Chant,  accompanies  you,  and  the  hollow  Night  of  Orcus  is 
well  hid  ! 

Yes  truly,  few  men  that  worship  by  the  rotatory  Calabash 
of  the  Calmucks  do  it  in  half  so  great,  frank  or  effectual  a 
way.  Drury-lane,  it  is  said,  and  that  is  saying  much,  might 
learn  from  him  in  the  dressing  of  parts,  in.  the  arrangement 
of  lights  and  shadows.  He  is  the  greatest  Play-actor  that  at 
present  draws  salary  in  this  world.  Poor  Pope  ;  and  I  am 
told  he  is  fast  growing  bankrupt  too  ;  and  will,  in  a  measur- 
able term  of  years  (a  great  way  within  the  £  three  hundred') 
not  have  a  penny  to  make  his  pot  boil !  His  old  rheumatic 
back  will  then  get  to  rest  ;  and  himself  and  his  stage-prop- 
erties sleep  well  in  Chaos  for  evermore. 


PHENOMENA. 


137 


Or,  alaSj  why  go  to  Borne  for  Phantasms  walking  the 
streets  ?  Phantasms,  ghosts,  in  this  midnight  hour,  hold 
jubilee,  and  screech  and  jabber  ;  and  the  question  rather 
were,  What  high  Reality  anywhere  is  yet  awake  ?  Aristocracy 
has  become  Phantasm-Aristocracy,  no  longer  able  to  do  its 
work,  not  in  the  least  conscious  that  it  has  any  work  longer 
to  do.  Unable,  totally  careless  to  do  its  work  ;  careful  only 
to  clamour  for  the  wages  of  doing  its  work, — nay  for  higher, 
and  palpably  undue  wages,  and  Corn-Laws  and  increase  of 
rents ;  the  old  rate  of  wages  not  being  adequate  now !  In 
hydra- wrestle,  giant  c  Mittocr&cy 9  so  called,  a  real  giant, 
though  as  yet  a  blind  one  and  but  half-awake,  wrestles  and 
wrings  in  choking  nightmare,  '  like  to  be  strangled  in  the 
partridge-nets  of  Phantasm-Aristocracy,'  as  we  said,  which 
fancies  itself  still  to  be  a  giant.  Wrestles,  as  under  night- 
mare, till  it  do  awaken  ;  and  gasps  and  struggles  thousand- 
fold, we  may  say,  in  a  truly  painful  manner,  through  all 
fibres  of  our  English  Existence,  in  these  hours  and  years  ! 
Is  our  poor  English  Existence  wholly  becoming  a  Nightmare  ; 
full  of  mere  Phantasms?  — 

The  Champion  of  England,  cased  in  iron  or  tin,  rides  into 
Westminster  Hall,  '  being  lifted  into  his  saddle  with  little 
assistance,'  and  there  asks,  If  in  the  four  quarters  of  the 
world,  under  the  cope  of  Heaven,  is  any  man  or  demon  that 
dare  question  the  right  of  this  King?  Under  the  cope  of 
Heaven  no  man  makes  intelligible  answer, — as  several  men 
ought  already  to  have  done.  Does  not  this  Champion  too 
know  the  world  ;  that  it  is  a  huge  Imposture,  and  bottomless 
Inanity,  thatched  over  with  bright  cloth  and  other  ingenious 
tissues  ?  Him  let  us  leave  there,  questioning  all  men  and 
demons. 

Him  we  have  left  to  his  destiny ;  but  whom  else  have  we 
found  ?  Erom  this  the  highest  apex  of  things,  downwards 
through  all  strata  and  breadths,  how  many  fully  awakened 
Realities  have  we  fallen  in  with  :  alas,  on  the  contrary,  what 
troops  and  populations  of  Phantasms,  not  God-Veracities  but 
Devil-Falsities,  down  to  the  very  lowest  stratum, — which  now, 
by  such  superincumbent  weight  of  Unveracities,  lies  enchant< 


138 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


ed  in  St  Ives'  Workhouses,  broad  enough,  helpless  enough  1 
You  will  walk  in  no  public  thoroughfare  or  remotest  byway 
of  English  Existence  but  you  will  meet  a  man,  an  interest  of 
men,  that  has  given  up  hope  in  the  Everlasting,  True,  and 
placed  its  hope  in  the  Temporary,  half  or  wholly  False.  The 
Honourable  Member  complains  unmusically  that  there  is 
'  devils-dust '  in  Yorkshire  cloth.  Yorkshire  cloth — why,  the 
very  Paper  I  now  write  on  is  made,  it  seems,  partly  of  plaster- 
lime  well-smoothed,  and  obstructs  my  writing  !  You  are  lucky 
if  you  can  find  now  any  good  Paper, — any  work  really  done  ; 
search  where  you  will,  from  highest  Phantasm  apex  to  lowest 
Enchanted  basis. 

Consider  for  example  that  great  Hat  seven-feet  high,  which 
now  perambulates  London  Streets  ;  which  my  Friend  Sauer- 
teig  regarded  justly  as  one  of  our  English  notabilities  ;  "  the 
topmost  point  as  yet,"  said  he,  "  would  it  were  your  culmi- 
nating and  returning  point,  to  which  English  Puffery  has 
been  observed  to  reach  !  " — the  Hatter  in  the  Strand  of  Lon- 
don, instead  of  making  better  felt-hats  than  another,  mounts 
a  huge  lath-and-plaster  Hat,  seven-feet  high,  upon  wheels ; 
sends  a  man  to  drive  it  through  the  streets  ;  hoping  to  be 
saved  thereby.  He  has  not  attempted  to  make  better  hats,  as 
he  was  appointed  by  the  Universe  to  do,  and  as  with  this  inge- 
nuity of  his  he  could  very  probably  have  done  ;  but  his  whole 
industry  is  turned  to  persuade  us  that  he  has  made  such ! 
He  too  knows  that  the  Quack  has  become  God.  Laugh  not 
at  him,  O  Keader  ;  or  do  -not  laugh  only.  He  has  ceased  to 
be  comic  ;  he  is  fast  becoming  tragic.  To  me  this  all-deafen- 
ing blast  of  Puffery,  of  poor  Falsehood  grown  necessitous, 
of  poor  Heart-Atheism  fallen  now  into  Enchanted  Work- 
houses, sounds  too  surely  like  a  Doom's-blast.  I  have  to  say 
to  myself  in  old  dialect :  "  God's  blessing  is  not  written  on  all 
this  ;  His  curse  is  written  on  all  this  !  "  Unless  perhaps  the 
Universe  be  a  chimera  ; — some  old  totally  deranged  eightday 
clock,  dead  as  brass  ;  which  the  Maker,  if  there  ever  was  any 
Maker,  has  long  ceased  to  meddle  with?— To  my  friend 
Sauerteig  this  poor  seven-feet  Hat-Manufacturer,  as  the  top 
Btone  of  English  Puffery,  was  very  notable. 


'PHENOMENA, 


139 


Alas,  that  we  natives  note  him  little,  that  we  view  him  as  a 
thing  of  course,  is  the  very  burden  of  the  misery.  We  take 
it  for  granted,  the  most  rigorous  of  us,  that  all  men  who  have 
made  anything  are  expected  and  entitled  to  make  the  loudest- 
possible  proclamation  of  it,  and  call  on  a  discerning  public  to 
reward  them  for  it.  Every  man  his  own  trumpeter  ;  that  is, 
to  a  really  alarming  extent,  the  accepted  rule.  Make  loudest 
possible  proclamation  of  your  Hat :  true  proclamation  if  that 
will  do  ;  ii  that  will  not  do,  then  false  proclamation, — to  such 
extent  of  falsity  as  will  serve  your  purpose  ;  as  will  not  seem 
too  false  to  be  credible  ! — I  answer,  once  for  all,  that  the  fact 
is  not  so.  Nature  requires  no  man  to  make  proclamation  of 
his  doings  and  hat-makings  ;  Nature  forbids  all  men  to  make 
such.  There  is  not  a  man  or  hat-maker  born  into  the  world 
but  feels,  or  has  felt,  that  he  is  degrading  himself  if  he  speak 
of  his  excellencies  and  prowesses,  and  supremacy  in  his  craft : 
his  inmost  heart  says  to  him,  "Leave  thy  friends  to  speak  of 
these  ;  if  possible,  thy  enemies  to  speak  of  these  ;  but  at  all 
events,  thy  friends  !  "  He  feels. that  he  is  already  a  poor  brag- 
gart ;  fast  hastening  to  be  a  falsity  and  speaker  of  the  "Untruth. 

Nature's  Laws,  I  must  repeat,  are  eternal :  her  small  still 
voice,  speaking  from  the  inmost  heart  of  us,  shall  not,  under 
terrible  penalties,  be  disregarded.  No  one  man  can  depart 
from  the  truth  without  damage  to  himself ;  no  one  million 
of  men  ;  no  Twenty-seven  Millions  of  men.  Shew  me  a  Na- 
tion fallen  everywhere  into  this  course,  so  that  each  expects 
it,  permits  it  to  others  and  himself,  I  will  shew  you  a  na- 
tion travelling  with  one  assent  on  the  broad  way.  The 
broad  way,  however  many  Banks  of  England,  Cotton-Mills 
and  Duke's  Palaces  it  may  have.  Not  at  happy  Elysian 
fields,  and  everlasting  crowns  of  victory,  earned  by  silent  Val- 
our, will  this  Nation  arrive  ;  but  at  precipices,  devouring 
gulfs,  if  it  pause  not.  Nature  has  appointed  happy  fields,  vic- 
torious laurel-crowns  ;  but  only  to  the  brave  and  true  :  Un- 
nature,  what  we  call  Chaos,  holds  nothing  in  it  but  vacuities, 
devouring  gulfs.  "What  are  Twenty-seven  Millions,  and  their 
unanimity  ?  Believe  them  not  :  the  Worlds  and  the  Ages> 
God  and  Nature  and  All  Men  say  otherwise. 


140 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


'  Khetoric  all  this  ? '  No,  my  brother,  very  singular  to  say, 
it  is  Fact  all  this.  Cocker's  Arithmetic  is  not  truer.  Forgot- 
ten in  these  days,  it  is  old  as  the  foundations  of  the  Universe, 
and  will  endure  till  the  Universe  cease.  It  is  forgotten  now  ; 
and  the  first  mention  of  it  puckers  thy  sweet  countenance 
into  a  sneer  :  but  it  will  be  brought  to  mind  again, — unless 
indeed  the  Law  of  Gravitation  chance  to  cease,  and  men  find 
that  they  can  walk  on  vacancy.  Unanimity  of  the  Twenty- 
seven  Millions  will  do  nothing  ;  walk  not  thou  with  them  ; 
fly  from  them  as  for  thy  life.  Twenty-seven  Millions  trav- 
elling on  such  courses,  with  gold  jingling  in  every  pocket, 
with  vivats  heaven-high,  are  incessantly  advancing,  let  me 
again  remind  thee,  toward^  the  firm-land's  end, — towards 
the  end  and  extinction  of  what  Faithfulness,  Veracity,  real 
"Worth,  was  in  their  'way  of  life/  Their  noble  ancestors 
have  fashioned  for  them  a  '  life-road  ; ' — in  how  many  thou- 
sand senses,  this  !  There  is  not  an  old  wise  Proverb  on 
their  tongue,  an  honest  Principle  articulated  in  their  hearts 
into  utterance,  a  wise  true  method  of  doing  and  de- 
spatching any  work  or  commerce  of  men,  but  helps  yet  to 
carry  them  forward.  Life  is  still  possible  to  them,  because 
all  is  not  yet  Puffery,  Falsity,  Mammon-worship  and  Unna- 
ture  ;  because  somewhat  is  yet  Faithfulness,  Veracity  and 
Valour.  With  a  certain  very  considerable  finite  quantity  of 
Unveracity  and  Phantasm,  social  life  is  still  possible  ;  not 
with  an  infinite  quantity  !  Exceed  your  certain  quantity,  the 
seven-feet  Hat,  and  all  things  upwards  to  the  very  Champion 
cased  in  tin,  begin  to  reel  and  flounder, — in  Manchester  In- 
surrections, Chartisms,  Sliding-scales  ;  the  Law  of  Gravita- 
tion not  forgetting  to  act.  You  advance  incessantly  towards 
the  land's  end  ;  you  are,  literally  enough,  '  consuming  the 
way.'  Step  after  step,  Twenty-seven  Million  unconscious 
men  ; — till  you  are  at  the  land's  end  ;  till  there  is  not  faith- 
fulness enough  among  you  any  more  :  and  the  next  step 
now  is  lifted  not  over  land,  but  into  air,  over  ocean-deeps 
and  roaring  abysses  : — unless  perhaps  the  Law  of  Gravita- 
tion have  forgotten  to  act? 

Oh,  it  is  frightful  when  a  whole  Nation,  as  our  Fathers 


GOSPEL  OF  MAMMONISH. 


141 


used  to  say,  has  6  forgotten  God  ; '  has  remembered  only 
Mammon,  and  what  Mammon  leads  to  !  "When  your  self- 
trumpeting  Hat-maker  is  the  emblem  of  almost  all  makers, 
and  workers,  and  men,  that  make  anything, — from  soul-over- 
seerships,  body-overseerships,  epic  poems,  acts  of  parliament, 
to  hats  and  shoe-blacking !  Not  one  false  man  but  does  un- 
accountable mischief  :  how  much,  in  a  generation  or  two,  will 
Twenty-seven  Millions,  mostly  false,  manage  to  accumulate? 
The  sum  of  it,  visible  in  every  street,  market-place,  senate- 
house,  circulating  library,  cathedral,  cotton-mill,  and  union- 
workhouse,  fills  one  not  with  a  comic  feeling ! 


CHAPTEE  H. 

GOSPEL    OF  MAMMONISM. 

Beader,  even  Christian  Eeacler  as  thy  title  goes,  hast  thou 
any  notion  of  Heaven  and  Hell?  I  rather  apprehend,  not. 
Often  as  the  words  are  on  our  tongue,  they  have  got  a  fabulous 
or  semi-fabulous  character  for  most  of  us,  and  pass  on  like  a 
kind  of  transient  similitude,  like  a  sound  signifying  little. 

Yet  it  is  well  worth  while  for  us  to  know,  once  and  always, 
that  they  are  not  a  similitude,  nor  a  fable  nor  a  semi-fable  ; 
that  they  are  an  everlasting  highest  fact !  "  No  Lake  of  Sicil- 
ian or  other  sulphur  burns  now  anywhere  in  these  ages," 
say  est  thou  ?  Well,  and  if  there  did  not !  Believe  that  there 
does  not  ;  believe  it  if  thou  wilt,  nay  hold  by  it  as  a  real  in- 
crease, a  rise  to  higher  stages,  to  wider  horizons  and  empires. 
All  this  has  vanished,  or  has  not  vanished  ;  believe  as  thou 
wilt  as  to  all  this.  But  that  an  Infinite  of  Practical  Importance, 
speaking  with  strict  arithmetical  exactness,  an  Infinite,  has 
vanished  or  can  vanish  from  the  Life  of  any  Man :  this  thou 
shalt  not  believe  !  O  brother,  the  Infinite  of  Terror,  of  Hope, 
of  Pity,  did  it  not  at  any  moment  disclose  itself  to  thee,  in- 
dubitable, unnameable  ?  Came  it  never,  like  the  gleam  of 
preter-natural  eternal  Oceans,  like  the  voice  of  old  Eternities, 
far-sounding  through  thy  heart  of  hearts  ?  Never  ?  Alas, 
it  was  not  thy  Liberalism  then  ;  it  was  thy  Animalism  !  Tha 


142 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


Infinite  is  more  sure  than  any  other  fact.  But  only  men  can 
discern  it ;  mere  building  beavers,  spinning  arachnes,  much 
more  the  predatory  vulturous  and  vulpine  species,  do  not 
discern  it  well ! — 

'The  word  Hell/  says  Sauerteig,  'is  still  frequently  in  use 
'  among  the  English  People  :  but  I  could  not  without  diffiU 
'  culty  ascertain  what  they  meant  by  it.  Hell  generally  sig- 
'  nines  the  Infinite  Terror,  the  thing  a  man  is  infinitely  afraid 
'of,  and  shudders  and  shrinks  from,  struggling  with  his  whole 
'  »oul  to  escape  from  it.  There  is  a  Hell  therefore,  if  you  will 
c  consider,  which  accompanies  man,  in  all  stages  of  his  history, 
'  and  religious  or  other  development :  but  the  Hells  of  men 
c  and  Peoples  differ  notably.  With  Christians  it  is  the  in- 
'  finite  terror  of  being  found  guilty  before  the  Just  Judge. 
'With  old  Komans,  I  conjecture,  it  was  the  terror  not  of 
'  Pluto,  for  whom  probably  they  cared  little,  but  of  doing  un- 
'  worthily,  doing  unvirtuously,  which  was  their  word  for  umnan- 
'  fully.  And  now  what  is  it,  if  you  pierce  through  his  Cants, 
'  his  oft-repeated  Hearsays,  what  he  calls  his  Worships  and  so 
'forth, — what  is  it  that  the  modern  English  soul  does,  in  very 
'  truth,  dread  infinitely,  and  contemplate  with  entire  despair  ? 
'  What  is  his  Hell ;  after  all  these  reputable,  oft-repeated 
'  Hearsays,  what  is  it  ?  With  hesitation,  with  astonishment,  I 
'pronounce  it  to  be  :  The  terror  of  "  Not  succeeding  ;"  of 
'  not  making  money,  fame,  or  some  other  figure  in  the  world, 
'  — chiefly  of  not  making  money  !  Is  not  that  a  somewhat 
singular  Hell  ? ' 

Yes,  O  Sauerteig,  it  is  very  singular.  If  we  do  not  '  suc- 
ceed,' where  is  the  use  of  us?  We  had  better  never  have  been 
born.  "Tremble  intensely,"  as  our  friend  the  Emperor  of 
China  says  :  there  is  the  black  Bottomless  of  Terror  ;  what 
Sauerteig  calls  the  '  Hell  of  the  English  !  ' — But  indeed  this 
Hell  belongs  naturally  to  the  Gospel  of  Mammonism,  which 
also  has  its  corresponding  Heaven.  For  there  is  one  Reality 
among  so  many  phantasms  ;  about  one  thing  we  are  entirely 
in  earnest :  The  making  of  money.  Working  Mammonism 
does  divide  the  world  with  idle  game-preserving  Dilettantism  : 
■ — thank  Heaven  that  there  is  even  a  Mammonism,  anything 


GOSPEL  OF  MAMMON  ISM. 


143 


we  are  in  earnest  about !  Idleness  is  worst,  Idleness  alone  is 
without  hope  :  work  earnestly  at  anything,  you  will  by  de- 
grees learn  to  work  at  almost  all  things.  There  is  endless 
hope  in  work,  were  it  even  work  at  making  money. 

True,  it  must  be  owned,  we  for  the  present,  with  our  Mam- 
mon-Gospel, have  come  to  strange  conclusions.  We  call  it  a 
Society  ;  and  go  about  professing  openly  the  totalest  separa- 
tion, isolation.  Our  life  is  not  a-  mutual  helpfulness ;  but 
rather,  cloaked  under  due  laws-of-war,  named  £  fair  competi- 
tion '  and  so  forth,  it  is  a  mutual  hostility.  We  have  pro- 
foundly forgotten  everywhere  that  Cash-payment  is  not  the 
sole  relation  of  human  beings  ;  we  think,  nothing  doubting, 
that  it  absolves  and  liquidates  all  engagements  of  man.  "My 
starving  workers  ?  "  answers  the  rich  Mill-owner.  "  Did  not 
I  hire  them  fairly  in  the  market?  Did  I  not  pay  them,  to  the 
last  sixpence,  the  sum  covenanted  for  ?  What  have  I  to  do 
with  them  more  ?  " — Verily  Mammon- worship  is  a  melancholy 
creed.  When  Cain,  for  his  own  behoof,  had  killed  Abel,  and 
was  questioned,  "  Where  is  thy  brother  ?  99  he  too  made  an- 
swer, fC  Am  I  my  brothers  keeper  ?  "  Did  I  not  pay  my 
brother  his  wages,  the  thing  he  had  merited  from  me? 

O  sumptuous  Merchant-Prince,  illustrious  game-preserving 
Duke,  is  there  no  way  of  c  killing '  thy  brother  but  Cain's 
rude  way  !  '  A  good  man  by  the  very  look  of  him,  by  his 
cvery  presence  with  us  as  a  fellow  wayfarer  in  this  Life-pil- 
f  grimage,  promises  so  much  : '  wo  to  Trim  if  he  forget  all 
such  promises,  if  he  never  know  that  they  were  given  !  To  a 
deadened  soul,  seared  with  the  brute  Idolatry  of  Sense,  to 
whom  going  to  Hell  is  equivalent  to  not  making  money,  all 
£  promises,'  and  moral  duties,  that  cannot  be  pleaded  for  in 
Courts  of  Requests,  address  themselves  in  vain.  Money  he  can 
be  ordered  to  pay,  but  nothing  more.  I  have  not  heard  in  all 
Past  History,  and  expect  not  to  hear  in  all  Future  History,  of 
any  Society  anywhere  under  God's  Heaven  supporting  itself 
on  such  Philosophy.  The  Universe  is  not  made  so  ;  it  is 
made  otherwise  than  so.  The  man  or  nation  of  men  that 
thinks  it  is  made  so,  marches  forward  nothing  doubting,  step 
after  step  ;  but  marches — whither  we  know  !    In  these  last 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


two  centuries  of  Atheistic  Government  (near  two  centuries 
now,  since  the  blessed  restoration  of  his  Sacred  Majesty,  and 
Defender  of  the  Faith,  Charles  Second),  I  reckon  that  we 
have  pretty  well  exhausted  what  of  '  firm  earth '  there  was  for 
us  to  march  on  ; — and  are  now,  very  ominously,  shuddering, 
reeling,  and  let  us  hope  trying  to  recoil,  on  the  cliff  s  edge ! — 
For  out  of  this  that  we  call  Atheism  come  so  many  other 
isms  and  falsities,  each  falsity  with  its  misery  at  its  heels  ! — 
A  soul  is  not  like  wind  (spirit us,  or  breath)  contained  within 
a  capsule  ;  the  Almighty  Maker  is  not  like  a  Clockmaker  that 
once,  in  old  immemorial  ages,  having  made  his  Horologe  of  a 
Universe,  sits  ever  since  and  sees  it  go  !  Not  at  all.  Hence 
comes  Atheism  ;  come,  as  we  say,  many  other  isms  ;  and  as 
the  sum  of  all,  comes  Valetism,  the  reverse  of  Heroism  ;  sad 
root  of  all  v/oes  whatsoever.  For  indeed,  as  no  man  ever 
saw  the  above-said  wind-element  enclosed  within  its  capsule, 
and  finds  it  at  bottom  more  deniable  than  conceivable  ;  so 
too  he  finds,  in  spite  of  Bridge  water  Bequests,  your  Clock- 
maker  Almighty  an  entirely  questionable  affair,  a  deniable 
affair  ; — and  accordingly  denies  it,  and  along  with  it  so  much 
else.  Alas,  one  knows  not  what  and  how  much  else  !  For  the 
faith  in  an  Invisible,  Unnameable,  God-like,  present  every- 
where in  all  that  we  see  and  work  and  suffer,  is  the  essence 
of  all  faith  whatsoever  ;  and  that  once  denied,  or  still  worse, 
asserted  with  lips  only,  and  out  of  bound  prayer-books  only, 
what  other  thing  remains  believable  ?  That  Cant  welhor- 
dered  is  marketable  Cant :  that  Heroism  means  gas-lighted 
Histrionism  ;  that  seen  with  '  clear  eyes  '  (as  they  call  Valet- 
e}rer-i),  no  man  is  a  Hero,  or  ever  was  a  Hero,  but  all  men  are 
Valets  and  Varlets.  The  accursed  practical  quintessence  of 
all  sorts  of  Unbelief !  For  if  there  be  now  no  Hero,  and  the 
Histrio  himself  .begin  to  be  seen  into,  what  hope  is  there  for 
the  seed  of  Adam  here  below  ?  We  are  the  doomed  everlast- 
ing prey  of  the  Quack ;  who,  now  in  this  guise,  now  in  that, 
is  to  filch  us,  to  pluck  and  eat  us,  by  such  modes  as  are  con- 
venient for  him.  For  the  modes  and  guises  I  care  little. 
The  Quack  once  inevitable,  let  him  come  swiftly,  let  him 
pluck  ana  eat  me  , — swiftly,  that  1  may  at  least  have  done 


GOSPEL  OF  MAMMON ISM. 


145 


with  him  ;  for  in  his  Quack-world  I  can  have  no  wish  to 
linger.  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  not  trust  in  him. 
Though  he  conquer  nations,  and  have  all  the  Flunkeys  of 
the  Universe  shouting  at  his  heels,  yet  will  I  know  well  that 
he  is  an  Inanity  ;  that  for  him  and  his  there  is  no  continu- 
ance appointed,  save  only  in  Gehenna  and  the  Pool.  Alas, 
the  Atheist  world,  from  its  utmost  summits  of  Heaven  and 
Westminster  Hall,  downwards  through  poor  seven-feet  Hats 
and  '  "[Inveracities  fallen  hungry,'  down  to  the  lowest  cellars 
and  neglected  hunger-dens  of  it,  is  very  wretched. 

One  of  Dr.  Alison's  Scotch  facts  struck  us  much.*  A  poor 
Irish  Widow,  her  husband  having  died  in  one  of  the  Lanes  of 
Edinburgh,  went  forth  with  her  three  children,  bare  of  all  re- 
source, to  solicit  help  from  the  Charitable  Establishments  of 
that  City.  At  this  Charitable  Establishment  and  then  at  that 
she  was  refused  :  referred  from  one  to  the  other,  helped  by 
none  ; — till  she  had  exhausted  them  all  ;  till  her  strength  and 
heart  failed  her :  she  sank  down  in  typhus  fever  ;  died,  and 
infected  her  Lane  with  fever,  so  that  '  seventeen  other  per- 
sons '  died  of  fever  there  in  consequence.  The  humane  Phy- 
sician asks  thereupon,  as  with  a  heart  too  full  for  speaking, 
Would  it  not  have  been  economy  to  help  this  poor  Widow  ? 
She  took  typhus-fever,  and  killed  seventeen  of  you  ! — Very 
curious.  The  forlorn  Irish  Widow  applies  to  her  fellow- 
creatures,  as  if  saying,  "Behold  I  am  sinking,  bare  of  help  : 
ye  must  help  me  !  I  am  your  sister,  bone  of  your  bone  ;  one 
God  made  us  ;  ye  must  help  me  !  "  They  answer,  "  No  ;  im- 
possible :  thou  art  no  sister  of  ours,"  But  she  proves  her 
sisterhood  ;  her  typhus-fever  kills  them  ;  they  actually  were 
her  brothers,  though  denying  it !  Had  human  creature  ever 
to  go  lower  for  a  proof  ? 

For,  as  indeed  was  very  natural  in  such  case,  all  govern- 
ment of  the  Poor  by  the  Rich  has  long  ago  been  given  over 
to  Supply-and-demand,  Laissez-faire  and  such  like,  and  uni- 
versally declared  to  be  '  impossible.'  "You  are  no  sister  of 
ours  ;  what  shadow  of  proof  is  there  ?    Here  are  our  parch- 

*  Observations  on  the  Management  of  the  Poor  in  Scotland :  By  Wil- 
liam Pulteney  Alison,  M.D.    (Edinburgh,  1840.) 
10 


146 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


ments,  our  padlocks,  proving  indisputably  our  money-safes  to 
be  oars,  and  you  to  have  no  business  with  them.  Depart !  It 
is  impossible  !  " — Nay,  what  wouldst  thou  thyself  have  us  do  ? 
cry  indignant  readers  Nothing,  my  friends, — till  you  have 
got  a  soul  for  yourselves  again.  Till  then  all  things  are  6  im- 
possible.' Till  then  I  cannot  even  bid  you  buy,  as  the  old 
Spartans  would  have  done,  two-pence  worth  of  powder  and 
lead,  and  compendiously  shoot  to  death  this  poor  Irish  Widow  : 
even  that  is  '  impossible '  for  you.  Nothing  is  left  but  that 
she  prove  her  sisterhood  by  dying,  and  infecting  you  with 
typhus.  Seventeen  of  you  lying  dead  will  not  deny  such 
proof  that  she  was  flesh  of  your  flesh  ;  and  perhaps  some  of 
the  living  may  lay  it  to  heart. 

'  Impossible  : '  of  a  certain  two-legged  animal  with  feathers 
it  is  said,  if  you  draw  a  distinct  chalk-circle  round  him,  he 
sits,  imprisoned,  as  if  girt  with  the  iron  ring  of  Fate  ;  and  will 
die  there,  though  within  sight  of  victuals,  or  sit  in  sick  misery 
there,  and  be  fatted  to  death.  The  name  of  this  poor  two- 
legged  animal  is — Goose  ;  and  they  make  of  him,  when  well 
fattened,  Pate  defoie  gras,  much  prized  by  some  ! 


CHAPTER  m 

GOSPEL  OF  DILETTANTISM. 

But  after  all,  the  Gospel  of  Dilettantism,  producing  a  Gov- 
erning Class  who  do  not  govern,  nor  understand  in  the  least 
that  they  are  bound  or  expected  to  govern,  is  still  mournfuler 
than  that  of  Mammonism.  Mammonism,  as  we  said,  at  least 
works  ;  this  goes  idle.  Mammonism  has  seized  some  portion 
of  the  message  of  Nature  to  man  ;  and  seizing  that,  and  fol- 
lowing it,  will  seize  and  appropriate  more  and  more  of 
Nature's  message  :  but  Dilettantism  has  missed  it  wholly. 
'  Make  money  : '  that  will  mean  withal,  £  Do  work  in  order  to 
make  money.'  But,  *  Go  gracefully  idle  in  Mayfair,'  what 
does  or  can  that  mean  ?  An  idle,  game-preserving  and  even 
corn-la  wing  Aristocracy,  in  such  an  England  as  ours  :  has  the 


GOSPEL  OF  DILETTANTISM. 


147 


world,  if  we  take  thought  of  it,  ever  seen  such  a  phenomenon 
till  very  lately  ?    Can  it  long  continue  to  see  such  ? 

Accordingly  the  impotent,  insolent  Donothingism  in  Prac- 
tice, and  Saynothingism  in  Speech,  which  we  have  to  witness 
ori  that  side  of  our  affairs,  is  altogether  amazing.  A  Corn- 
Law  demonstrating  itself  openly,  for  ten  years  or  more,  with 
'  arguments '  to  make  the  angels,  and  some  other  classes  of 
creatures,  weep  !  For  men  are  not  ashamed  to  rise  in  Parlia- 
ment and  elsewhere,  and  speak  the  things  they  do  not  think. 
'  Expediency,' 6  Necessities  of  Party,'  &c.  &c  !  It  is  not  known 
that  the  Tongue  of  Man  is  a  sacred  organ  ;  that  Man  himself 
is  definable  in  Philosophy  as  an  '  Incarnate  Word  ; '  the  Word 
not  there,  you  have  no  Man  there  either,  but  a  Phantasm  in- 
stead !  In  this  way  it  is  that  xAbsurdities  may  live  long 
enough, — still  walking,  and  talking  for  themselves,  years  and 
decades  after  the  brains  are  quite  out !  How  are  '  the  knaves 
and  dastards  '  ever  to  be  got  £  arrested '  at  that  rate  ? — 

"  No  man  in  this  fashionable  London  of  yours,"  friend 
Sauerteig  would  say,  "speaks  a  jDlain  wrord  to  me.  Every 
man  feels  bound  to  be  something  more  than  plain  ;  to  be 
pungent  withal,  witty,  ornamental.  His  poor  fraction  of 
sense  has  to  be  perked  into  some  epigrammatic  shape,  that  it 
may  prick  into  me  ; — perhaps  (this  is  the  commonest)  to  be 
topsyturvied,  left  standing  on  its  head,  that  I  may  remember 
it  the  better !  Such  grinning  inanity  is  very  sad  to  the  soul 
of  man.  Human  faces  should  not  grin  on  one  like  masks 
they  should  look  on  one  like  faces  !  I  love  honest  laughter, 
as  I  do  sunlight ;  but  not  dishonest :  most  kinds  of  dancing 
too  ;  but  the  St.  Vitus  kind  not  at  all !  A  fashionable  wit, 
ach  Ifimmel,  if  you  ask,  "Which,  he  or  a  Death's  head,  will  be 
the  cheerier  company  for  me  ?  pray  send  not  him  !  " 

Insincere  Speech,  truly,  is  the  prime  material  of  insincere 
Action.  Action  hangs,  as  it  were,  dissolved  in  Speech,  in 
Thought  whereof  Speech  is  the  shadow  ;  and  precipitates  it- 
self therefrom.  The  kind  of  Speech  in  a  man  betokens  the 
kind  of  Action  you  will  get  from  him.  Our  Speech,  in  these 
modern  days,  has  become  amazing.  Johnson  complained, 
"  Nobody  speaks  in  earnest,  Sir  ;  there  is  no  serious  conver- 


148 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


sation."  To  us  all  serious  speech  of  men,  as  that  of  Seven- 
teenth-Century Puritans,  Twelfth-Century  Catholics,  German 
Poets  of  this  Century,  has  become  jargon,  more  or  less  in- 
sane. Cromwell  was  mad  and  a  quack ;  Anselm,  Becket, 
Goethe,  ditto,  ditto. 

Perhaps  few  narratives  in  History  or  Mythology  are  more 
significant  than  that  Moslem  one,  of  Moses  and  the  Dwellers 
by  the  Dead  Sea.  A  tribe  of  men  dwelt  on  the  shores  of  that 
same  Asphaltic  Lake  ;  and  having  forgotten,  as  we  are  all  too 
prone  to  do,  the  inner  facts  of  Nature,  and  taken  up  with  the 
falsities  and  outer  semblances  of  it,  were  fallen  into  sad  con- 
ditions,— verging  indeed  towards  a  certain  far  deeper  Lake. 
Whereupon  it  pleased  kind  Heaven  to  send  them  the  Prophet 
Moses,  with  an  instructive  word  of  warning  out  of  which 
might  have  sprung  '  remedial  measures  '  not  a  few.  But  no  : 
the  men  of  the  Dead  Sea  discovered,  as  the  valet-species 
always  does  in  heroes  or  prophets,  no  comeliness  in  Moses  ; 
listened  with  real  tedium  to  Moses,  with  light  grinning,  or 
with  splenetic  sniffs  and  sneers,  affecting  even  to  yawn  ;  and 
signified,  in  short,  that  they  found  him  a  humbug,  and  even 
a  bore.  Such  was  the  candid  theory  these  men  of  the  Asphalt 
Lake  formed  to  themselves  of  Moses,  That  probably  he  was  a 
humbug,  and  certainly  he  was  a  bore. 

Moses  withdrew  ;  but  Nature  and  her  rigorous  veracities 
did  not  withdraw.  The  men  of  the  Dead  Sea,  when  we  next 
went  to  visit  them,  were  all  £  changed  into  Apes  ; '  *  sitting 
on  the  trees  there,  grinning  now  in  the  most  an  affected 
manner  ;  gibbering  and  chattering  very  genuine  nonsense  ; 
finding  the  whole  Universe  now  a  most  indisputable  Humbug  ! 
The  Universe  has  become  a  Humbug  to  these  Apes  who 
thought  it  one.  There  they  sit  and  chatter,  to  this  hour  : 
only,  I  believe,  every  Sabbath  there  returns  to  them  a  bewil- 
dered half-consciousness,  half-reminiscence;  and  they  sit, 
with  their  wizzened  smoke-dried  visages,  and  such  an  air  of 
supreme  tragicality  as  Apes  may  ;  looking  out  through  those 
blinking  smoke-bleared  eyes  of  theirs,  into  the  wonderfulest 
*  Sale's  Koran  {Introduction). 


HAPPY. 


149 


universal  smoky  Twilight  and  undecipherable  disordered 
Dusk  of  Things  ;  wholly  an  Uncertainty,  Unint eligibility, 
they  and  it  ;  and  for  commentary  thereon,  here  and  there  an 
unmusical  chatter  or  mew  : — truest,  tragicalest  Humbug  con- 
ceivable by  the  mind  of  man  or  ape  !  They  made  no  use  of 
their  souls  ;  and  so  have  lost  them.  Their  worship  on  the 
Sabbath  now  is  to  roost  there,  with  unmusical  screeches,  and 
half-remember  that  they  had  souls. 

Didst  thou  never,  O  Traveller,  fall  in  with  parties  of  this 
tribe  ?  Meseems  they  are  grown  somewhat  numerous  in  our 
day. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HAPPY. 

All  work,  even  cotton-spinning,  is  noble  ;  work  is  alone 
noble  :  be  that  here  said  and  asserted  once  more.  And  in 
like  manner,  too,  all  dignity  is  painful ;  a  life  of  ease  is  not 
for  any  man,  nor  for  any  god.  The  life  of  all  gods  figures 
itself  to  us  as  a  Sublime  Sadness, — earnestness  of  Infinite 
Battle  against  Infinite  Labour.  Our  highest  religion  is 
named  the  'Worship  of  Sorrow/  For  the  son  of  man  there 
is  no  noble  crown,  well  worn,  or  even  ill  worn,  but  is  a  crown 
of  thorns  ! — These  things,  in  spoken  words,  or  still  better,  in 
felt  instincts  alive  in  every  heart,  were  once  well  known. 

Does. not  the  whole  wretchedness,  the  whole  Atheism  as  I 
call  it,  of  man's  ways,  in  these  generations,  shadow  itself  for 
us  in  that  unspeakable  Life-philosophy  of  his :  The  pretension 
to  be  what  he  calls  '  happy  ?  '  Every  pitif  ulest  whipster  that 
walks  within  a  skin  has  his  head  filled  with  the  notion  that  he 
is,  shall  be,  or  by  all  human  and  divine  laws  ought  to  be, 
'  happy.'  His  wishes,  the  pitifulest  whipster's,  are  to  be  ful- 
filled for  him  ;  his  days,  the  pitifulest  whipster's,  are  to  flow 
on  in  ever-gentle  current  of  enjoyment,  impossible  even  for 
the  gods.  The  prophets  preach  to  us,  Thou  shalt  be  happy  ; 
thou  shalt  love  pleasant  things,  and  find  them.  The  people 
clamour,  "Why  have  we  not  found  pleasant  things  ? 

We  construct  our  theory  of  Human  Duties,  not  on  any 


150 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


Greatest-Nobleness  Principle,  never  so  mistaken  ;  no,  but  on 
a  Greatest-Happiness  Principle.  '  The  word  Soul  with  us,  as 
in  some  Slavonic  dialects,  seems  to  be  synonymous  with 
Stomach'  We  plead  and  speak,  in  our  Parliaments  and  else- 
where, not  as  from  the  Soul,  but  from  the  Stomach  ; — where- 
fore, indeed,  our  pleadings  are  so  slow  to  profit.  "We  plead 
not  for  God's  Justice  ;  we  are  not  ashamed  to  stand  clamour- 
ing and  pleading  for  our  own  '  interests, '  our  own  rents  and 
trade-profits  ;  we  say,  They  are  the  '  interests '  of  so  many  ; 
there  is  such  an  intense  desire  in  us  for  them  !  We  demand 
Free  Trade,  with  much  just  vociferation  and  benevolence, 
That  the  poorer  classes,  who  are  terribly  ill-off  at  present,  may 
have  cheaper  New-Orleans  bacon.  Men  ask  on  Free-trade 
platforms,  How  can  the  indomitable  spirit  of  Englishmen  be 
kept  up  without  plenty  of  bacon  ?  We  shall  become  a  ruined 
Nation  ! — Surely,  my  friends,  plenty  of  bacon  is  good  and  in- 
dispensable :  but  I  doubt,  you  will  never  get  even  bacon  by 
aiming  only  at  that.  You  are  men,  not  animals  of  prey,  well- 
used  or  ill-used  !  Your  Greatest-Happiness  Principle  seems 
to  me  fast  becoming  a  rather  unhappy  one. — What  if  we  should 
cease  babbling  about  '  happiness,'  and  leave  it  resting  on  its 
own  basis,  as  it  used  to  do  ! 

A  gifted  Byron  rises  in  his  wrath ;  and  feeling  too  surely 
that  he  for  his  part  is  not  '  happy,'  declares  the  same  in  very 
violent  language,  as  a  piece  of  news  that  may  be  interesting. 
It  evidently  has  surprised  him  much.  One  dislikes  to  see  a 
man  and  poet  reduced  to  proclaim  on  the  streets  such  tidings  ; 
but  on  the  whole,  as  matters  go,  that  is  not  the  most  dislik- 
able.  Byron  speaks  the  truth  in  this  matter.  Byron's  large 
audience  indicates  how  true  it  is  felt  to  be. 

'Happy,'  my  brother?  First  of  all,  what  difference  is  it 
whether  thou  art  happy  or  not !  Today  becomes  Yesterday 
so  fast,  all  Tomorrows  become  Yesterdays  ;  and  then  there  is 
no  question  whatever  of  the  'happiness,'  but  quite  another 
question.  Nay,  thou  hast  such  a  sacred  pity  left  at  least  for 
thyself,  thy  very  pains,  once  gone  over  into  Yesterday,  become 
joys  to  thee.  Besides,  thou  knowest  not  what  heavenly  bless- 
edness and  indispensable  sanative  virtue  was  in  them ;  thou 


HAPPY. 


151 


shalt  only  know  it  after  many  days,  when  thou  art  wiser  ! — A 
benevolent  old  Surgeon  sat  once  in  our  company,  with  a  Pa- 
tient fallen  sick  by  gourmandising,  whom  he  had  just,  too 
briefly  in  the  Patient's  judgment,  been  examining.  The  fool- 
ish Patient  still  at  intervals  continued  to  break  in  on  our  dis- 
course, which  rather  promised  to  take  a  philosophic  turn :  "But 
I  have  lost  my  appetite,"  said  he,  objurgatively,  with  a  tone  of 
irritated  pathos;  "I  have  no  appetite;  I  can't  eat!" — -"My 
dear  fellow,"  answered  the  Doctor  in  mildest  tone,  "  it  isn't 
of  the  slightest  consequence  ;" — and  continued  his  philosophi- 
cal disco  ursings  with  us  ! 

Or  does  the  reader  not  know  the  history  of  that  Scottish 
iron  Misanthrope  ?  The  inmates  of  some  town-mansion,  in 
those  Northern  parts,  were  thrown  into  the  fearfulest  alarm 
by  indubitable  symptoms  of  a  ghost  inhabiting  the  next  house, 
or  perhaps  even  the  partition-wall !  Ever  at  a  certain  hour, 
with  preternatural  gnarring,  growling  and  screeching,  which 
attended  as  running  bass,  there  began,  in  a  horrid,  semi- 
articulate,  unearthly  voice,  this  song  :  "  Once  I  was  hap-hap- 
happy,  but  now  I'm  mees-evohle !  Clack-clack-clack,  gnarr- 
r-r,  whuz-z :  Once  I  was  hap-hap-happy,  but  now  I'm  mis- 
erable !" — Rest,  rest,  perturbed  spirit  ; — or  indeed,  as  the  good 
old  Doctor  said  :  My  dear  fellow,  it  isn't  of  the  slightest  con- 
sequence !  But  no  ;  the  perturbed  spirit  could  not  rest ;  and 
to  the  neighbours,  fretted,  affrighted,  or  at  least  insufferably 
bored  by  him,  it  was  of  such  consequence  that  they  had  to  go 
and  examine  in  his  haunted  chamber.  In  his  haunted  cham- 
ber, they  find  that  the  perturbed  spirit  is  an  unfortunate — 
Imitator  of  Byron  ?  No,  is  an  unfortunate  rusty  Meat-jack, 
gnarring  and  creaking  with  rust  and  work  ;  and  this,  in  Scot- 
tish dialect,  is  its  Byronian  musical  Life-philosophy,  sung  ac- 
cording to  ability  ! 

Truly,  I  think  the  man  who  goes  about  pothering  and  up- 
roaring  for  his  'happiness,' — pothering,  and  were  it  ballot- 
boxing,  poem-making,  or  in  what  way  soever  fussing  and  ex- 
erting himself, — he  is  not  the  man  that  will  help  us  to  e  get 
our  knaves  and  dastards  arrested  !'    No  ;  he  rather  is  on  the 


152 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


way  to  increase  the  number, — by  at  least  one  unit  and  his  tail  \ 
Observe,  too,  that  this  is  all  a  modern  affair ;  belongs  not  to 
the  old  heroic  times,  but  to  these  dastard  new  times.  '  Hap- 
piness our  being's  end  and  aim,'  all  that  very  paltry  specula- 
tion, is  at  bottom,  if  we  will  count  well,  not.  yet  two  centuries 
>1 1  in  the  world. 

The  only  happiness  a  brave  man  ever  troubled  himself  with 
asking  much  about  was,  happiness  enough  to  get  his  work 
done.  Not  "I  can't  eat!"  but  "I  can't  work  !"  that  was  the 
burden  of  all  wise  complaining  among  men.  It  is,  after  all, 
the  one  unhappiness  of  a  man.  That  he  cannot  work  ;  that 
he  cannot  get  his  destiny  as  a  man  fulfilled.  Behold,  the  day 
is  passing  swiftly  over,  our  life  is  passing  swiftly  over;  and 
the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can  work.  The  night  once 
come,  our  happiness,  our  unhappiness, — it  is  all  abolished ; 
vanished,  clean  gone  ;  a  thing  that  has  been" :  '  not  of  the  slight- 
est consequence '  whether  we  were  happy  as  eupeptic  Curtis, 
as  the  fattest  pig  of  Epicurus,  or  unhappy  as  Job  with  pot- 
sherds, as  musical  Byron  with  Giaours  and  sensibilities  of  the 
heart ;  as  the  unmusical  Meat-jack  with  hard  labour  and  rust ! 
But  our  work, — behold  that  is  not  abolished,  that  has  not 
vanished :  our  work,  behold  it  remains,  or  the  want  of  it  re- 
mains ; — for  endless  Times  and  Eternities,  remains  ;  and  that 
is  now  the  sole  question  with  u£  forevermore  !  Brief  brawling 
Day,  with  its  noisy  phantasms,  its  poor  paper-crowns  tinsel- 
gilt,  is  gone  ;  and  divine  everlasting  Night  with  her  star-dia- 
dems, with  her  silences  and  her  veracities,  is  come  !  What 
hast  thou  done,  and  how?  Happiness,  unhappiness  :  all  that 
was  but  the  wages  thou  hadst ;  thou  hast  spent  all  that,  in 
sustaining  thyself  hitherward  ;  not  a  coin  of  it  remains  with 
thee,  it  is  all  spent,  eaten  :  and  now  thy  work,  where  is  thy 
work  ?    Swift,  out  with  it,  let  us  see  thy  work  ! 

Of  a  truth,  if  man  were  not  a  poor  hungry  dastard,  and 
even  much  of  a  blockhead  withal,  he  would  cease  criticising 
his  victuals  to  such  extent ;  and  criticise  himself  rather,  what 
he  does  with  his  victuals ! 


THE  ENGLISH. 


153 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  ENGLISH. 

And  yet,  with  all  thy  theoretic  platitudes,  what  a  depth  vi 
practical  sense  in  thee,  great  England !  Depth  of  sense,  of 
justice,  and  courage  ;  in  which,  under  all  emergencies  and 
world-bewilderments,  and  under  this  most  complex  of  emer- 
gencies we  now  live  in,  there  is  still  hope,  there  is  still  assu- 
rance ! 

The  English  are  a  dumb  people.  They  can  do  great  acts, 
but  not  describe  them.  Like  the  old  Komans  and  some  few 
others,  their  Epic  Poem  is  written  on  the  earth's  surface  : 
England  her  Mark  !  It  is  complained  that  they  have  no  ar- 
tists :  one  Shakspeare  indeed  ;  but  for  Raphael  only  a  Rey- 
nolds ;  for  Mozart  nothing  but  a  Mr.  Bishop  ;  not  a  picture, 
not  a  song.  And  yet  they  did  produce  one  Shakspeare  :  con- 
sider how  the  element  of  Shakspearean  melody  does  lie  im- 
prisoned m  their  nature  ;  reduced  to  unfold  itself  in  mere 
Cotton-mills,  Constitutional  Governments,  and  such  like  ; — 
all  the  more  interesting  when  it  does  become  visible,  as  even 
in  such  unexpected  shapes  it  succeeds  in  doing !  Goethe 
spoke  of  the  Horse,  how  impressive,  almost  affecting  it  was 
that  an  animal  of  such  qualities  should  stand  obstructed  so  ; 
its  speech  nothing  but  an  inarticulate  neighing,  its  handiness 
mere  /ioq/iness,  the  fingers  all  constricted,  tied  together,  the 
finger-nails  coagulated  into  a  mere  hoof,  shod  with  iron.  The 
more  significant,  thinks  he,  are  those  eye-flashings  of  the 
generous  noble  quadruped  ;  those  prancings,  curvings  of  the 
neck  clothed  with  thunder. 

A  Dog  of  Knowledge  has  free  utterance  ;  but  the  Warhorse 
is  almost  mute,  very  far  from  free  !  It  is  even  so.  Truly, 
your  freest  utterances  are  not  by  any  means  always  the  best : 
they  are  the  worst  rather ;  the  feeblest,  trivialest ;  their  mean- 
ing prompt,  but  small,  ephemeral.  Commend  me  to  the  silent 
English,  to'  the  silent  Romans.  Nay,  the  silent  Russians  too 
I  believe  to  be  worth  something  :  are  they  not  even  now  drill- 
ing, under  much  obloquy,  an  immense  semi-barbarous  half* 


154 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


world  from  Finland  to  Kamtschatka,  into  rule,  subordination, 
civilisation, — really  in  an  old  Roman  fashion  ;  speaking  no 
word  about  it  ;  quietly  hearing  all  manner  of  vituperative 
Able  Editors  speak !  While  your  ever-talking,  ever-gesticu- 
lating French,  for  example,  what  are  they  at  this  moment 
drilling  ? — Nay,  of  all  animals,  the  freest  of  utterance,  I  should 
judge,  is  the  genus  Simia :  go  into  the  Indian  woods,  say  all 
Travellers,  and  look  what  a  brisk,  adroit,  unresting  Ape-popu- 
lation it  is ! 

The  spoken  "Word,  the  written  Poem,  is  said  to  be  an  epit- 
ome of  the  man  ;  how  much  more  the  done  Work.  What- 
soever of  morality  and  of  intelligence  ;  what  of  patience,  per- 
severance, faithfulness,  of  method,  insight,  ingenuity,  energy  ; 
in  a  word,  whatsoever  of  Strength  the  man  had  in  him  will  lie 
written  in  the  Work  he  does.  To  work  :  why,  it  is  to  try 
himself  against  Nature,  and  her  everlasting  unerring  Laws  ; 
these  will  tell  a  true  verdict  as  to  the  man.  So  much  of  vir- 
tue and  of  faculty  did  we  find  in  him  ;  so  much  and  no  more  ! 
He  had  such  capacity  of  harmonising  himself  with  me  and  my 
unalterable  ever-veracious  Laws  ;  of  cooperating  and  working 
as /bade  him; — and  has  prospered,  and  has  not  prospered, 
as  you  see  ? — Working  as  great  Nature  bade  him  :  does  not 
that  mean  virtue  of  a  kind  ;  nay,  of  all  kinds  ?  Cotton  can 
be  spun  and  sold,  Lancashire  operatives  can  be  got  to  spin  it, 
and  at  length  one  has  the  woven  webs  and  sells  them,  by  fol- 
lowing Nature's  regulations  in  that  matter  :  by  not  following 
Nature's  regulations,  you  have  them  not.  You  have  them 
not ; — there  is  no  Cotton -web  to  sell  :  Nature  finds  a  bill 
against  you  ;  your  '  Strength '  is  not  Strength,  but  Futility  ! 
Let  faculty  be  honoured,  so  far  as  it  is  faculty.  A  man  that 
can  succeed  in  working  is  to  me  always  a  man. 

How  one  loves  to  see  the  burly  figure  of  him,  this  thick- 
skinned,  seemingly  opaque,  perhaps  sulky,  almost  stupid  Man 
of  Practice,  pitted  against  some  light  adroit  Man  of  Theory, 
all  equipt  with  clear  logic,  and  able  anywhere  to  give  you 
Why  for  Wherefore  !  The  adroit  Man  of  Theory,  so  light  of 
movement,  clear  of  utterance,  with  his  bow  full-bent  and 


THE  ENGLISH. 


155 


quiver  full  of  arrow-arguments, — surely  he  will  strike  down 
the  game,  transfix  everywhere  the  heart  of  the  matter  ;  tri- 
umph everywhere,  as  he  proves  that  he  shall  and  must  do  ? 
To  your  astonishment,  it  turns  out  oftenest  No.  The  cloudy- 
browed,  thick-soled,  opaque  Practicality,  with  no  logic-utter- 
ance, in  silence  mainly,  with  here  and  there  a  low  grunt  or 
growl,  has  in  him  what  transcends  all  logic-utterance  :  a  Con- 
gruity  with  the  Unuttered.  The  Speakable,  which  lies  atop, 
as  a  superficial  film,  or  outer  skin,  is  his  or  is  not  his :  but  the 
Doable,  which  reaches  down  to  the  World's  centre,  you  find 
him  there  ! 

The  rugged  Brindley  has  little  to  say  for  himself;  the 
rugged  Brindley,  when  difficulties  accumulate  on  him,  re- 
tires silent,  6  generally  to  his  bed  ; '  retires  c  sometimes  for 
i  three  days  together  to  his  bed,  that  he  may  be  in  perfect 
'privacy  there,'  and  ascertain  in  his  rough  head  how  the 
difficulties  can  be  overcome.  The  ineloquent  Brindley,  be- 
hold he  has  chained  seas  together  ;  his  ships  do  visibly  float 
over  valleys,  invisibly  through  the  hearts  of  mountains ;  the 
Mersey  and  the  Thames,  the  Humber  and  the  Severn  have 
shaken  hands  :  Nature  most  audibly  answers,  Yes  !  The  Man 
of  Theory  twangs  his  full-bent  bow  ;  Nature's  Fact  ought  to 
fall  stricken,  but  does  not :  his  logic  arrow  glances  from  it  as 
from  a  scaly  dragon,  and  the  obstinate  Fact  keeps  walking 
its  way.  How  singular  !  At  bottom  you  will  have  to  grap- 
ple closer  with  the  dragon  ;  take  it  home  to  you,  by  real 
faculty,  not  by  seeming  faculty  ;  try  whether  you  are  stronger 
or  it  is  stronger.  Close  with  it,  wrestle  it :  sheer  obstinate 
toughness  of  muscle  ;  but  much  more,  what  we  call  tough- 
ness of  heart,  which  will  mean  persistance  hopeful  and  even 
desperate,  unsubduable  patience,  composed  candid  openness, 
clearness  of  mind :  all  this  shall  be  6  strength '  in  wrestling 
your  dragon  ;  the  whole  man's  real  strength  is  in  this  work, 
we  shall  get  the  measure  of  him  here. 

Of  all  the  Nations  in  the  world  at  present  the  English  are 
the  stupidest  in  speech,  the  wisest  in  action.  As  good  as  a 
4  dumb '  Nation,  I  say,  who  cannot  speak,  and  have  never  yet 
spoken, — spite  of  the  Shakspeares  and  Miltons  who  shew  -us 


156 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


-what  possibilities  there  are  ! — 0  Mr.  Bull,  I  look  in  that  surly 
face  of  thine  with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  laughter,  yet  also 
with  wonder  and  veneration.  Thou  complainest  not,  my  il- 
lustrious friend  ;  and  yet  I  believe  the  heart  of  thee  is  full  of 
sorrow,  of  unspoken  sadness,  seriousness, — profound  melan- 
choly (as  some  have  said)  the  basis  of  thy  being.  Uncon- 
sciously, for  thou  speakest  of  nothing,  this  great  Universe  is 
great  to  thee.  Not  by  levity  of  floating,  but  by  stubborn 
force  of  swimming,  shalt  thou  make  thy  way.  The  Fates 
sing  of  thee  that  thou  shalt  many  times  be  thought  an  ass 
and  a  dull  ox,  and  shalt  with  a  godlike  indifference  believe  it. 
My  friend, — and  it  is  all  untrue,  nothing  ever  falser  in  point 
of  fact !  Thou  art  of  those  great  ones  whose  greatness  the 
small  passer-by  does  not  discern.  Thy  very  stupidity  is  wiser 
than  their  wisdom.  A  grand  vis  inertia?  is  in  thee ;  how 
many  grand  qualities  unknown  to  small  men  !  Nature  alone 
knows  thee,  acknowledges  the  bulk  and  strength  of  thee  :  tby 
Epic,  unsung  in  words,  is  written  in  huge  characters  on  the 
face  of  this  Planet, — sea-moles,  cotton-trades,  railways,  fleets 
and  cities,  Indian  Empires,  Americas,  New-Hollands  ;  legible 
throughout  the  Solar  System  ! 

But  the  dumb  Russians  too,  as  I  said,  they,  drilling  all  wild 
Asia  and  wild  Europe  into  military  rank  and  file,  a  terrible 
yet  hitherto  a  prospering  enterprise,  are  still  dumber.  The 
old  Romans  also  could  not  speak,  for  many  centuries  : — not 
till  the  world  was  theirs  ;  and  so  many  speaking  Greekdoms, 
their  logic-arrows  all  spent,  had  been  absorbed  and  abolished. 
The  logic-arrows,  how  they  glanced  futile  from  obdurate 
thick-skinned  Facts  ;  Facts  to  be  wrestled  down  only  by  the 
real  vigour  of  Roman  thews  ! — As  for  me,  I  honour,  in  these 
loud-babbling  days,  all  the  Silent  rather.  A  grand  Silence 
that  of  Romans  ; — nay  the  grandest  of  all,  is  it  not  that  of  the 
gods !  Even  Triviality,  Imbecility,  that  can  sit  silent,  how 
respectable  is  it  in  comparison  !  The  £  talent  of  silence  '  is 
our  fundamental  one.  Great  honour  to  him  whose  Epic  is  a 
melodious  hexameter  Iliad  ;  not  a  jingling  Sham-Iliad,  nothing 
true  in  it  but  the  hexameters  and  forms  merely.  But  still 
greater  honour,  if  his  Epic  be  a  mighty  Empire  slowly  built 


THE  ENGLISH. 


157 


together,  a  mighty  Series  of  Heroic  deeds, — a  mighty  Conquest 
over  Chaos  ;  which  Epic  the  '  Eternal  Melodies '  have,  and 
must  have,  informed  and  dwelt  in,  as  it  sung  itself  !  There  is 
no  mistaking  that  latter  Epic.  Deeds  are  greater  than  Words. 
Deeds  have  such  a  life,  mute  bat  undeniable,  and  grow  as 
living  trees  and  fruit-trees  do  ;  they  people  the  vacuity  of 
Time,  and  make  it  green  and  worthy.  Why  should  the  oak 
prove  logically  that  it  ought  to  grow,  and  will  grow  ?  Plant 
it,  try  it ;  what  gifts  of  diligent  judicious  assimilation  and 
secretion  it  has,  of  progress  and  resistance,  of  force  to  grow, 
will  then  declare  themselves.  My  much-honoured,  illustrious, 
extremely  inarticulate  Mr.  Bull ! — 

Ask  Bull  his  spoken  opinion  of  any  matter, — oftentimes  the 
force  of  dulness  can  no  farther  go.  You  stand  silent,  in- 
credulous, as  over  a  platitude  that  borders  on  the  Infinite. 
The  man's  Churchisms,  Dissenterisms,  Puseyisms,  Bentham- 
isms, College  Philosophies,  Fashionable  Literatures,  are  unex- 
ampled in  this  world.  Fate's  prophecy  is  fulfilled  ;  you  call 
the  man  an  ox  and  an  ass.  But  set  him  once  to  work, — re- 
spectable man  !  His  spoken  sense  is  next  to  nothing,  nine- 
tenths  of  it 'palpable  nonsense  :  but  his  unspoken  sense,  his 
inner  silent  feeling  of  what  is  true,  what  does  agree  with  fact, 
what  is  doable  and  what  is  not  doable, — this  seeks  its  fellow 
in  the  world.  A  terrible  worker  ;  irresistible  against  marshes, 
mountains,  impediments,  disorder,  in  civilisation  ;  everywhere 
vanquishing  disorder,  leaving  it  behind  him  as  method  and 
order.    He  c  retires  to  his  bed  three  days  '  and  considers  ! 

Nay  withal,  stupid  as  he  is,  our  dear  John, — ever,  after  in- 
finite tumblings,  and  spoken  platitudes  innumerable  from 
barrel-heads  and  parliament-benches,  he  does  settle  down 
somewhere  about  the  just  conclusion  ;  you  are  certain  that 
his  jumblings  and  tumblings  will  end,  after  years  or  centuries, 
in  the  stable  equilibrium.  Stable  equilibrium,  I  say  ;  centre- 
of-gravity  lowest  ; — not  the  unstable,  with  centre-of-gravity 
highest,  as  I  have  known  it  done  by  quicker  people !  For 
indeed,  do  but  jumble  and  tumble  sufficiently,  you  avoid  that 
worst  fault,,  of  settling  with  your  centre-of-gravity  highest ; 
your  centre  of-gravity  is  certain  to  come  lowest,  and  to  stay 


158 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


there.  If  slowness,  what  we  in  our  impatience  call  £  stupidity,' 
be  the  price  of  stable  equilibrium  over  unstable,  shall  we 
grudge  a  little  slowness  ?  Not  the  least  admirable  quality  of 
Bull  is,  after  all,  that  of  remaining  insensible  to  logic  ;  hold- 
ing out  for  considerable  periods,  ten  years  or  more,  as  in  this 
of  the  Corn-Laws,  after  all  arguments  and  shadow  of  argu- 
ments have  faded  away  from  him,  till  the  very  urchins  on  the 
street  titter  at  the  arguments  he  brings.  Logic, — Aoyi/a),  the 
'  Art  of  Speech,' — does  indeed  speak  so  and  so  ;  clear  enough : 
nevertheless  Bull  still  shakes  his  head  ;  will  see  whether 
nothing  else  illogical,  not  yet  '  spoken,'  not  yet  able  to  be 
'  spoken,'  do  not  lie  in  the  business,  as  there  so  often  does  !- — 
My  firm  belief  is,  that,  finding  himself  now  enchanted,  hand- 
shackled,  foot-shackled,  in  Poor-Law  Bastilles  and  elsewhere, 
he  will  retire  three  days  to  his  bed,  and  arrive  at  a  conclusion 
or  two  !  His  three  years  '  total  stagnation  of  trade,'  alas,  is 
not  that  a  painful  enough  '  lying  in  bed  to  consider  himself  ?  1 
Poor  Bull! 

Bull  is  a  born  Conservative  ;  for  this  too  I  inexpressibly 
honour  him.  All  great  Peoples  are  conservatives  ;  slow  to  be- 
lieve in  novelties  ;  patient  of  much  error  in  actualties  ;  deeply 
and  forever  certain  of  the  greatness  that  is  in  Law,  in  Custom 
once  solemnly  established,  and  now  long  recognised  as  just 
and  final. — True,  O  Radical  Reformer,  there  is  no  Custom 
that  can,  properly  speaking,  be  final ;  none.  And  yet  thou 
seest  Customs  which,  in  all  civilised  countries,  are  accounted 
final ;  nay,  under  the  Old-Roman  name  of  Mores,  are  ac- 
counted Morality,  Virtue,  Laws  of  God  Himself.  Such,  I  as- 
sure thee,  not  a  few  of  them  are  ;  such  almost  all  of  them  once 
were.  And  greatly  do  I  respect  the  solid  character, — a  block- 
head, thou  wilt  say  ;  yes,  but  a  wrell-conditioned  blockhead, 
and  the  best-conditioned, — who  esteems  all  'Customs  once 
solemnly  acknowledged '  to  be  ultimate,  divine,  and  the  rule 
for  a  man  to  walk  by,  nothing  doubting,  not  inquiring  farther. 
"What  a  time  of  it  had  we,  were  all  men's  life  and  trade  still, 
in  all  parts  of  it,  a  problem,  a  hypothetic  seeking,  to  be  set- 
tled by  painful  Logics  and  Baconian  Inductions  !  The  Clerk 
in  Eastcheap  cannot  spend  the  day  in  verifying  his  Ready- 


THE  ENGLISH. 


159 


Reckoner ;  lie  must  take  it  as  verified,  true  and  indisputable  ; 
or  his  Book-keeping  by  Double  Entry  will  stand  still  "  Where 
is  your  Posted  Ledger  ?"  asks  the  Master  at  night. — "  Sir," 
answers  the  other,  "  I  was  verifying  my  Ready-Reckoner,  and 
find  some  errors.    The  Ledger  is — !  " — Fancy  such  a  thing  ! 

True,  all  turns  on  your  Ready-Reckoner  being  moderately 
correct, — being  not  insupportably  incorrect !  A  Ready-Reck- 
oner which  has  led  to  distinct  entries  in  your  Ledger  such  as 
these  :  6  Creditor  an  English  People  by  fifteen  hundred  years 
6  of  good  Labour  ;  and  Debtor  to  lodging  in  enchanted  Poor- 
'  Law  Bastilles :  Creditor  by  conquering  the*  largest  Empire 
'  the  Sun  ever  saw ;  and  Debtor  to  Donothingism  and  "  Im- 
possible "  written  on  all  departments  of  the  government 
'  thereof  :  Creditor  by  mountains  of  gold  ingots  earned  ;  and 
'  Debtor  to  No  Bread  purchasable  by  them : '  such  Ready- 
Reckoner,  methinks,  is  beginning  to  be  suspect  ;  nay  is  ceas- 
ing, and  has  ceased,  to  be  suspect !  Such  Ready-Reckoner  is 
a  Solecism  in  Eastcheap  ;  and  must,  whatever  be  the  press  of 
business,  and  will  and  shall  be  rectified  a  little.  Business  can 
go  on  no  longer  with  it.  The  most  Conservative  English  Peo- 
ple, thickest-skinned,  most  patient  of  Peoples,  is  driven  alike 
by  its  Logic  and  its  Unlogic,  by  things  ¥  spoken,'  and  by 
things  not  yet  spoken  or  very  speakable,  but  only  felt  and 
very  unendurable,  to  be  wholly  a  Reforming  People.  Their 
Life  as  it  is  has  ceased  to  be  longer  possible  for  them. 

Urge  not  this  noble  silent  People  ;  rouse  not  the  Berserkir- 
rage  that  lies  in  them  !  Do  you  know  their  Cromwells,  Hamp- 
dens,  their  Pyms  and  Bradshaws  ?  Men  very  peaceable,  but 
men  that  can  be  made  very  terrible  !  Men  who,  like  their  old 
Teutsch  Fathers  in  Agrippa's  days,  '  have  a  soul  that  despises 
death  ;'  to  whom  'death,'  compared  with  falsehoods  and  in- 
justices, is  light; — cin  whom  there  is  a  rage  unconquerable 
by  the  immortal  gods  ! '  Before  this,  the  English  People  have 
taken  very  preternatural-looking  Spectres  by  the  beard  ;  say- 
ing virtually  :  "  And  if  thou  wert  1  preternatural  ?  '  Thou  with 
thy  c  divine-rights '  grown  diabolical  wrongs?     Thou — not 

even  '  natural ; '  decapitable  ;   totally  extinguishable  ! "  ■ 

Yes,  just  so  godlike  as  this  People's  patience  was,  even  so 


160 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


godlike  will  and  must  its  impatience  be.  Away,  ye  scandalous 
Practical  Solecisms,  children  actually  of  the  Prince  of  Dark- 
ness ;  ye  have  near  broken  our  hearts  ;  we  can  and  will  en- 
dure you  no  longer.  Begone,  we  say  ;  depart  while  the  play 
is  good  !  By  the  Most  High  Gocl,  whose  sons  and  born  mis- 
sionaries true  men  are,  ye  shall  not  continue  here  !  You  and 
we  have  become  incompatible  ;  can  inhabit  one  house  no 
longer.  Either  you  must  go,  or  we.  Are  ye  ambitious  to  try 
which  it  shall  be  ? 

O  my  Conservative  friends,  who  still  specially  name  and 
struggle  to  approve  yourselves  £  Conservative,'  would  to  Heaven 
I  could  persuade  you  of  this  world-old  fact,  than  which  Fate 
is  not  surer,  That  Truth  and  Justice  alone  are  capable  of  beiiig 
'  conserved '  and  preserved  !  The  thing  which  is  unjust,  which 
is  not  according  to  God's  Law,  will  you,  in  a  God's  Universe, 
try  to  conserve  that  ?  It  is  so  old,  say  you  ?  Yes,  and  the 
hotter  haste  ought  you,  of  all  others,  to  be  in  to  let  it  grow 
no  older  !  If  but  the  faintest  whisper  in  your  hearts  intimate 
to  you  that  it  is  not  fair, — hasten,  for  the  sake  of  Conservatism 
itself,  to  probe  it  rigorously,  to  cast  it  forth  at  once  and  for- 
ever if  guilty.  How  will  or  can  you  preserve  it,  the  thing  that 
is  not  fair  ?  '  Impossibility '  a  thousandfold  is  marked  on  that. 
And  ye  call  yourselves  Conservatives,  Aristocracies  : — ought 
not  honour  and  nobleness  of  mind,  if  they  had  departed  from 
all  the  Earth  elsewhere,  to  find  their  last  refuge  with  you  ? 
Ye  unfortunate ! 

The  bough  that  is  dead  shall  be  cut  away,  for  the  sake  of 
the  tree  itself.  '  Old  ?  Yes,  it  is  too  old.  Many  a  weary  win- 
ter has  it  swung  and  creaked  there,  and  gnawed  and  fretted, 
with  its  dead  wood,  the  organic  substance  and  still  living  fibre 
of  this  good  tree  ;  many  a  long  summer  has  its  ugly  naked 
brown  defaced  the  fair  green  umbrage  ;  every  day  it  has  done 
mischief,  and  that  only  :  off  with  it,  for  the  tree's  sake,  if  for 
nothing  more  :  let  the  Conservatism  that  would  preserve  cut 
it  away.  Did  no  wood-forester  apprise  you  that  a  dead  bough 
with  its  dead  root  left  sticking  there  is  extraneous,  poisonous  ; 
is  as  a  dead  iron  spike,  some  horrid  rusty  ploughshare  driven 
into  the  living  substance ; — nay  is  far  worse  ;  for  in  every 


TWO  CENTURIES. 


161 


windstorm  ('  commercial  crisis '  or  the  like),  it  frets  and  creaks, 
jolts  itself  to  and  fro,  and  cannot  lie  quiet  as  your  dead  iron 
spike  would  ! 

If  I  were  the  Conservative  Party  of  England  (which  is  another 
bold  figure  of  speech),  I  would  not  for  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  an  hour  allow  those  Corn-Laws  to  continue.  Po- 
tosi  and  Golconda  put  together  would  not  purchase  my  as- 
sent to  them.  Do  you  count  what  treasuries  of  bitter  indig- 
nation they  are  laying  up  for  you  in  every  just  English  heart  ? 
Do  you  know  what  questions,  not  as  to  Corn-prices  and  Slid- 
ing-scales  alone,  they  are  forcing  every  reflective  Englishman 
to  ask  himself?  Questions  insoluble,  or  hitherto  unsolved  ; 
deeper  than  any  of  our  Logic  plummets  hitherto  will  sound : 
questions  deep  enough, — which  it  were  better  that  we  did 
not  name  even  in  thought !  You  are  forcing  us  to  think  of 
them,  to  begin  uttering  them.  The  utterance  of  them  is 
begun  ;  and  where  will  it  be  ended,  think  you  ?  When  two 
millions  of  one's  brother-men  sit  in  Workhouses,  and  five  mill- 
ions, as  is  insolently  said,  '  rejoice  in  potatoes,'  there  are  vari- 
ous things  that  must  be  begun,  let  them  end  where  they  can. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TWO  CENTURIES. 

The  Settlement  effected  by  our  'Healing  Parliament'  in 
the  Year  of  Grace  1660,  though  accomplished  under  universal 
acclamations  from  the  four  corners  of  the  British  Dominions, 
turns  out  to  have  been  one  of  the  mournfulest  that  ever  took 
place  in  this  land  of  ours.  It  called  and  thought  itself  a  Set- 
tlement of  the  brightest  hope  and  fulfilment,  bright  as  the 
blaze  of  universal  tar-barrels  and  bonfires  could  make  it :  and 
we  find  it  now,  on  looking  back  on  it  with  the  insight  which 
trial  has  yielded,  a  Settlement  as  of  despair.  Considered  well, 
it  was  a  settlement  to  govern  henceforth  without  God,  with 
only  some  decent  Pretence  of  God. 

Governing  by  the  Christian  Law  of  God  had  been  found  a 
thing  of  battle,  convulsion,  confusion,  an  infinitely  difficult 
11 


162 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


thing  :  wherefore  let  us  now  abandon  it,  and  govern  only  by 
so  much  of  God's  Christian  Law  as — as  may  prove  quiet  and 
convenient  for  us.  What  is  the  end  of  Government?  To 
guide  men  in  the  way  wherein  they  should  go  ;  towards  their 
true  good  in  this  life,  the  portal  of  infinite  good  in  a  life  to 
come  ?  To  guide  men  in  such  way,  and  ourselves  in  such 
way,  as,  the  Maker  of  men,  whose  eye  is  upon  us,  will  sanc- 
tion at  the  Great  Day  ? — Or  alas,  perhaps  at  bottom  is  there 
no  Great  Day,  no  sure  outlook  of  any  life  to  come  ;  but  only 
this  poor  life,  and  what  of  taxes,  felicities,  Nell-Gwyns  and 
entertainments  we  can  manage  to  muster  here  ?  In  that  case, 
the  end  of  Government  will  be,  To  suppress  all  noise  and  dis- 
turbance, whether  of  Puritan  preaching,  Cameronian  psalm- 
singing,  thieves'-riot,  murder,  arson,  or  what  noise  soever, 
and — be  careful  that  supplies  do  not  fail !  A  very  notable 
conclusion,  if  we  will  think  of  it ;  and  not  without  an  abun- 
dance of  fruits  for  us.  Oliver  Cromwell's  body  hung  on  the 
Tyburn-gallows,  as  the  type  of  Puritanism  found  futile,  inex- 
ecutable,  execrable, — yes,  that  gallows-tree  has  been  a  finger- 
post into  very  strange  country  indeed.  Let  earnest  Puritan- 
ism die  ;  let  decent  Formalism,  whatsoever  cant  it  be  or  grow 
to,  live  !  We  have  had  a  pleasant  journey  in  that  direction  ; 
and  are — arriving  at  our  inn  ? 

To  support  the  Four  Pleas  of  the  Crown,  and  keep  Taxes 
coming  in  :  in  very  sad  seriousness,  has  not  this  been,  ever 
since,  even  in  the  best  times,  almost  the  one  admitted  end  and 
aim  of  Government  ?  Religion,  Christian  Church,  Moral  Duty ; 
the  fact  that  .man  had  a  soul  at  all ;  that  in  man's  life  there 
was  any  eternal  truth  or  justice  at  all, — has  been  as  good  as 
left  quietly  out  of  sight.  Church  indeed, — alas,  the  endless 
talk  and  struggle  we  have  had  of  High-Church,  Low-Church, 
Church-Extension,  Church-in-Danger  :  we  invite  the  Christian 
reader  to  think  whether  it  has  not  been  a  too  miserable 
screech-owl  phantasm  of  talk  and  struggle,  as  for  a  '  Church,' 
which  one  had  rather  not  define  at  present ! 

But  now  in  these  godless  two  centuries,  looking  at  Eng- 
land and  her  efforts  and  doings,  if  we  ask,  What  of  England's 
doings  the  Law  of  Nature  had  accepted,  Nature's  King  had 


TWO  CENTURIES. 


163 


actually  furthered  and  pronounced  to  have  truth  in  them, — 
where  is  our  answer  ?  Neither  the  '  Church '  of  Hurd  and 
Warburton,  nor  the  Anti-church  of  Hume  and  Paine  ;  not  in 
any  shape  the  Spiritualism  of  England  :  all  this  is  already 
seen,  or  beginning  to  be  seen,  for  what  it  is ;  a  thing  that 
Nature  does  not  own.  On  the  one  side  is  dreary  Cant,  with 
a  reminiscence  of  things  noble  and  divine ;  on  the  other  is  but 
acrid  Candour,  with  a  prophecy  of  things  brutal,  infernal. 
Hurd  and  Warburton  are  sunk  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf ; 
no  considerable  body  of  true-seeing  men  looks  thitherward 
for  healing  :  the  Paine-and-Hume  Atheistic  theory  of  6  things 
well  let  alone/  with  Liberty,  Equality  and  the  like,  is  also  in 
these  days  declaring  itself  naught,  unable  to  keep  the  world 
from  taking  fire. 

The  theories  and  speculations  of  both  these  parties,  and  we 
may  say,  of  all  intermediate  parties  and  persons,  prove  to  be 
things  which  the  Eternal  Veracity  did  not  accept ;  things 
superficial,  ephemeral,  which  already  a  near  Posterity,  finding 
them  already  dead  and  brown-leafed,  is  about  to  suppress  and 
forget.  The  Spiritualism  of  England,  for  those  godless  years, 
is,  as  it  were,  all  forgettable.  Much  has  been  written  :  but  the 
perennial  Scriptures  of  Mankind  have  had  small  accession  : 
from  all  English  Books,  in  rhyme  or  prose,  in  leather  binding 
or  in  paper  wrappage,  how  many  verses  have  been  added  to 
these  ?  Our  most  melodious  Singers  have  sung  as  from  the 
throat  outwards :  from  the  inner  Heart  of  Man,  from  the 
great  Heart  of  Nature,  through  no  Pope  or  Philips,  has  there 
come  any  tone.  The  Oracles  have  been  dumb.  In  brief,  the 
Spoken  Word  of  England  has  not  been  true.  The  Spoken 
Word  of  England  turns  out  to  have  been  trivial ;  of  short  en- 
durance ;  not  valuable,  not  available  as  a  Word,  except  for 
the  passing  day.  It  has  been  accordant  with  transitory  Sem- 
blance ;  discordant  with  eternal  Fact.  It  has  been  unfortu- 
nately not  a  Word,  but  a  Cant ;  a  helpless  involuntary  Cant, 
nay  too  often  a  cunning  voluntary  one  :  either  way,  a  very 
mournful  Cant ;  the  Voice  not  of  Nature  and  Fact,  but  of 
something  other  than  these. 

With  all  its  miserable  shortcomings,  with  its  wars,  contro- 


164 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


versies,  with  its  trades-unions,  famine-insurrections, — it  is  het 
Practical  Material  Work  alone  that  England  has  to  shew  for 
herself !  This,  and  hitherto  almost  nothing  more  ;  yet  actually 
this.  The  grim  inarticulate  veracity  of  the  English  People,  un- 
able to  speak  its  meaning  in  words,  has  turned  itself  silently  on 
things ;  and  the  dark  powers  of  Material  Nature  have  answered, 
"  Yes,  this  at  least  is  true,  this  is  not  false  !  "  So  answers  Na- 
ture. "  Waste  desert-shrubs  of  the  Tropical  swamps  have  be- 
come Cotton-trees  ;  and  here,  under  my  furtherance,  are  verily 
woven  shirts, — hanging  unsold,  undistributed,  but  capable  to 
be  distributed,  capable  to  cover  the  bare  backs  of  my  children 
of  men.  Mountains,  old  as  the  Creation,  I  have  permitted  to 
be  bored  through  :  bituminous  fuel-stores,  the  wreck  of  for- 
ests that  were  green  a  million  years  ago, — I  have  opened  them 
from  my  secret  rock- chambers,  and  they  are  yours,  ye  English. 
Your  huge  fleets,  steamships,  do  sail  the  sea  :  huge  Indias  do 
obey  you  ;  from  huge  New  Englands  and  Antipodal  Austraiias, 
comes  profit  and  traffic  to  this  Old  England  of  mine  !  "  So 
answers  Nature.  The  Practical  Labour  of  England  is  not  a 
chimerical  Triviality  r  it  is  a  Fact,  acknowledged  by  all  the 
Worlds  ;  which  no  man  and  no  demon  will  contradict.  It  is, 
very  audibly,  though  very  inarticulately  as  yet,  the  one  God's 
Voice  we  have  heard  in  these  two  atheistic  centuries. 

And  now  to  observe  with  what  bewildering  obscurations  and 
impediments  all  this  as  yet  stands  entangled,  and  is  yet  intelli- 
gible to  no  man  !  How,  with  our  gross  Atheism,  we  hear  it 
not  to  be  the  Voice  of  God  to  us,  but  regard  it  merely  as  a 
Voice  of  earthly  Profit-and-Loss.  And  have  a  Hell  in  England, 
— the  Hell  of  not  making  money.  And  coldly  see  the  all-con- 
quering valiant  Sons  of  Toil  sit  enchanted,  by  the  million,  in 
their  Poor-Law  Bastille,  as  if  this  were  Nature's  Law  ; — mum- 
bling to  ourselves  .some  vague  janglement  of  Laissez-faire, 
Supply-and-demand,  Cash-payment  the  one  nexus  of  man  to 
man  :  Eree-trade,  Competition,  and  Devil  take  the  hindmost,  * 
our  latest  Gospel  yet  preached  ! 

As  if,  in  truth,  there  were  no  God  of  Labour  ;  as  if  godlike 
Labour  and  brutal  Mammonism  were  convertible  terms.  A 


0  VER-PROD  UCTIOK 


165 


serious,  most  earnest  Mammonism  grown  Midas-eared  ;  an 
unserious  Dilettantism,  earnest  about  nothing,  grinning  with 
inarticulate  incredulous  incredible  jargon  about  all  things,  as 
the  enchanted  Dilettanti  do  by  the  Dead  Sea  !  It  is  mournful 
enough,  for  the  present  hour  ;  were  there,  not  an  endless  hope 
in  it  withal.  Giant  Labour,  truest  emblem  there  is  of  God  the 
World- Worker,  Demiurgus,  and  Eternal  Maker  ;  noble  La- 
bour, which  is  yet  to  be  the  King  of  this  Earth,  and  sit  on  the 
highest  throne, — staggering  hitherto  like  a  blind  irrational 
giant,  hardly  allowed  to  have  his  common  place  on  the  street- 
pavements  ;  idle  Dilettantism,  Dead-Sea  Apism,  crying  out, 
"  Down  with  him,  he  is  dangerous  !  " 

Labour  must  become  a  seeing  rational  giant,  with  a  soul  in 
the  body  of  him,  and  take  his  place  on  the  throne  of  things, — 
leaving  his  Mammonism,  and  several  other  adjuncts,  on  the 
lower  steps  of  said  throne. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OVER-PRODUCTION. 

But  what  will  reflective  readers  say  of  a  Governing  Class, 
such  as  ours,  addressing  its  Workers  with  an  indictment  of 
4  Over-production  ! '  Over-production  :  runs  it  not  so  ?  "Ye 
miscellaneous,  ignoble  manufacturing  individuals,  ye  have 
produced  too  much !  W"e  accuse  you  of  making  above  two- 
hundred  thousand  shirts  for  the  bare  backs  of  mankind. 
Your  trousers,  too,  which  you  have  made,  of  fustian,  of  cassi- 
mere,  of  Scotch-plaid,  of  jane,  nankeen  and  woollen  broad- 
cloth, are  they  not  manifold  ?  Of  hats  for  the  human  head, 
of  shoes  for  the  human  foot,  of  stools  to  sit  on,  spoons  to  eat 
with- — Nay,  what  say  we  hats  or  shoes  ?  You  produce  gold 
watches,  jewelleries,  silver  forks  and  epergnes,  commodes, 
chiffoniers,  stuffed  sofas — Heavens,  the  Commercial  Bazaar 
and  multitudinous  Howel-and-Jameses  cannot  contain  you. 
You  have  produced,  produced  ; — he  that  seeks  your  indict- 
ment let  him  look  around.  Millions  of  shirts,  and  empty 
pairs  of  breeches,  hang  there  in  judgment  against  you.  We 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


accuse  you  of  over-producing :  you  are  criminally  guilty  of 
producing  shirts,  breeches,  hats,  shoes  and  commodities,  in 
a  frightful  over-abundance.  And  now  there  is  a  glut,  and 
your  operatives  cannot  be  fed  ! " 

Never,  surely,  against  an  earnest  Working  Mammonism 
was  there  brought,  by  Game-preserving  aristocratic  Dilettant- 
ism, a  stranger  accusation,  since  this  world  began.  My  lords 
and  gentlemen, — why,  it  was  you  that  were  appointed,  bj 
the  fact  and  by  the  theory  of  your  position  on  the  Earth,  to 
'  make  and  administer  Laws/  that  is  to  say,  in  a  world  such 
as  ours,  to  guard  against  e  gluts  ; '  against  honest  operatives, 
who  had  done  their  work,  remaining  unfed !  I  say,  you 
were  appointed  to  preside  over  the  Distribution  and  Appor- 
tionment of  the  Wages  of  Work  done  ;  and  to  see  well  that 
there  went  no  labourer  without  his  hire,  were  it  of  money- 
coins,  were  it  of  hemp  gallows-ropes :  that  function  was 
yours,  and  from  immemorial  time  has  been  ;  yours,  and  as 
yet  no  other's.  These  poor  shirt-spinners  have  forgotten 
much,  which  by  the  virtual  unwritten  law  of  their  position 
they  should  have  remembered  :  but  by  any  written  recognised 
law  of  their  position,  what  have  they  forgotten  ?  They  were 
set  to  make  shirts.  The  Community  with  all  its  voices  com- 
manded them,  saying,  "  Make  shirts  ; " — and  there  the  shirts 
are !  Too  many  shirts  ?  Well,  that  is  a  novelty,  in  this 
intemperate  Earth,  with  its  nine-hundred  millions  of  bare 
backs  !  But  the  Community  commanded  you,  saying,  "  See 
that  the  shirts  are  well  apportioned,  that  our  Human  Laws 
be  emblem  of  God's  Laws  ; " — and  where  is  the  apportion- 
ment? Two  million  shirtless  or  ill-shirted  workers  sit  en- 
chanted in  Workhouse  Bastilles,  five  million  more  (according 
to  some)  in  TJgolino  Hunger-cellars ;  and  for  remedy,  you 
say, — what  say  you? — Baise  our  rents  ! "  I  have  not  in  my 
time  heard  any  stranger  speech,  not  even  on  the  Shores  of 
the  Dead  Sea.  You  continue  addressing  these  poor  shirt- 
spinners  and  over-producers,  in  really  a  too  triumphant  a 
manner : 

"  Will  you  bandy  accusations,  will  you  accuse  us  of  over- 
production ?    We  take  the  Heavens  and  the  Earth  to  witness 


0  VER-PROD  UGTIOK 


167 


that  we  have  produced  nothing  at  all.  Not  from  us  proceeds 
this  frightful  overplus  of  shirts.  In  the  wide  domains  of 
created  Nature,  circulates  no  shirt  or  thing  of  our  producing. 
Certain  fox-brushes  nailed  upon  our  stable-door,  the  fruit  of 
fair  audacity  at  Melton  Mowbray  ;  these  we  have  produced, 
and  they  are  openly  nailed  up  there.  He  that  accuses  us  of 
producing,  let  him  shew  himself,  let  him  name  what  and 
when.  We  are  innocent  of  producing  ; — ye  ungrateful,  what 
mountains  of  things  have  we  not,  on  the  contrary,  had  to 
'  consume,' and  make  away  with!  Mountains  of  those  your 
heaped  manufacturers,  wheresoever  edible  or  wearable,  have 
they  not  disappeared  before  us,  as  if  we  had  the  talent  of 
ostriches,  of  cormorants,  and  a  kind  of  divine  faculty  to  eat  ? 
Ye  ungrateful ! — and  did  you  not  grow  under  the  shadow  of 
our  wings?  Are  not  your  filthy  mills  built  on  these  fields 
of  ours ;  on  this  soil  of  England,  which  belongs  to — whom 
think  you  ?  And  we  shall  not  offer  you  our  own  wheat  at  the 
price  that  pleases  us,  but  that  partly  pleases  you?  A  prec- 
ious notion  !  What  would  become  of  you,  if  we  chose,  at 
any  time,  to  decide  on  growing  no  wheat  more  ?  " 

Yes,  truly,  here  is  the  ultimate  rock-basis  of  all  Corn-Laws  ; 
whereon,  at  the  bottom  of  much  arguing,  they  rest,  as  se- 
curely as  they  can  :  What  would  become  of  you,  if  we  decided, 
some  day,  on  growing  no  more  wheat  at  all  ?  If  we  chose  to 
grow  only  partridges  henceforth,  and  a  modicum  of  wheat  for 
our  own  uses  ?  Cannot  we  do  what  we  like  with  our  own  ? — 
Yes,  indeed  !  For  my  share,  if  I  could  melt  Gneiss  Rock, 
and  create  Law  of  Gravitation ;  if  I  could  stride  out  to  the 
Doggerbank,  some  morning,  and  striking  down  my  trident 
there  into  the  mud- waves,  say,  "  Be  land,  be  fields,  meadows, 
mountains,  and  fresh-rolling  streams !  "  by  Heaven,  I  should 
incline  to  have  the  letting  of  that  land  in  perpetuity,  and  sell 
the  wheat  of  it,  or  burn  the  wheat  of  it,  according  to  my  own 
good  judgment !    My  Corn-Lawing  friends,  you  affright  me. 

To  the  £  Millo-cracy  '  so-called,  to  the  Working  Aristocracy, 
steeped  too  deep  in  mere  ignoble  Mammonism,  and  as  yet  all 
unconscious  of  its  noble  destinies,  as  yet  but  an  irrational  or 


168 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


semi-rational  giant,  struggling  to  awake  some  soul  in  itself,—* 
the  world  will  have  much  to  say,  reproachfully,  reprovingly, 
admonishingly.  But  to  the  Idle  Aristocracy,  what  will  the 
world  have  to  say  ?    Things  painful  and  not  pleasant ! 

To  the  man  who  ivorks,  who  attempts,  in  never  so  ungra- 
cious barbarous  a  way,  to  get  forward  with  some  work,  you 
will  hasten  out  with  furtherances,  with  encouragements,  cor- 
rections ;  you  will  say  to  him :  "  Welcome  ;  thou  art  ours ; 
our  care  shall  be  of  thee."  To  the  Idler,  again,  never  so 
gracefully  going  idle,  coming  forward  with  never  so  many 
parchments,  you  will  not  hasten  out ;  you  will  sit  still,  and  be 
disinclined  to  rise.  You  will  say  to  him  :  "  Not  welcome,  O 
complex  Anomaly ;  would  thou  hadst  stayed  out  of  doors  : 
for  who  of  mortals  knows  what  to  do  with  thee  ?  Thy  parch- 
ments :  yes,  they  are  old,  of  venerable  yellowness  ;  and  we 
too  honour  parchment,  old-established  settlements,  and  ven 
erable  use  and  wont.  Old  parchments  in  very  truth : — yet  on 
the  whole,  if  thou  wilt  remark,  they  are  young  to  the  Granite 
Rocks,  to  the  Groundplan  of  God's  Universe  !  We  advise 
thee  to  put  up  thy  parchments  ;  to  go  home  to  thy  place,  and 
make  no  needless  noise  whatever.  Our  heart's  wish  is  to  save 
thee  :  yet  there  as  thou  art,  hapless  Anomaly,  with  nothing 
but  thy  yellow  parchments,  noisy  futilities,  and  shotbelts  and 
fox-brushes,  who  of  gods  or  men  can  avert  dark  Fate  ?  Be 
counselled,  ascertain  if  no  work  exist  for  thee  on  God's  Earth  ; 
if  thou  find  no  commanded-duty  there  but  that  of  going  grace- 
fully idle?  Ask,  inquire  earnestly,  with  a  half-frantic  ear- 
nestness ;  for  the  answer  means  Existence  or  Annihilation  to 
thee.  We  apprise  thee  of  the  world-old  fact,  becoming  sternly 
disclosed  again  in  these  days,  That  he  who  cannot  work  in 
this  Universe  cannot  get  existed  in  it :  had  he  parchments  to 
thatch  the  face  of  the  world,  these,  combustible  fallible  sheep- 
skin, cannot  avail  him.  Home,  thou  unfortunate  ;  and  let  us 
have  at  least  no  noise  from  thee  !  " 

Suppose  the  unfortunate  Idle  Aristocracy,  as  the  unfortu- 
nate Working  one  has  done,  were  to  '  retire  three  days  to  its 
bed,'  and  consider  itself  there,  what  o'clock  it  had  become  ? — 

How  have  we  to  regret  not  only  that  men  have  '  no  religion,' 


UN  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


100 


but  that  they  have  next  to  no  reflection  ;  and  go  about  with 
heads  full  of  mere  extraneous  noises,  with  eyes  wide-open  but 
visionless, — for  most  part,  in  the  somnambulist  state  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

UN  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 

It  is  well  said,  £  Land  is  the  right  basis  of  an  Aristocracy  ; ' 
whoever  possesses  the  Land,  he,  more  emphatically  than  any 
other,  is  the  Governor,  Viceking  of  the  people  on  the  Land. 
It  is  in  these  days  as  it  was  in  those  of  Henry  Plantagenet 
and  Abbot  Samson  ;  as  it  will  in  all  days  be.  The  Land  is 
Mother  of  us  all ;  nourishes,  shelters,  gladdens,  lovingly  en- 
riches us  all  ;  in  how  many  ways,  from  our  first  wakening  to 
our  last  sleep  on  her  blessed  mother-bosom,  does  she,  as 
with  blessed  mother-arms,  enfold  us  all  ! 

The  Hill  I  first  saw  the  Sun  rise  over,  when  the  Sun  and  I 
and  all  things  were  yet  in  their  auroral  hour,  who  can  divorce 
me  from  it  ?  Mystic,  deep  as  the  world's  centre,  are  the 
roots  I  have  struck  into  my  Native  Soil ;  no  tree  that  grows 
is  rooted  so.  From  noblest  Patriotism  to  humblest  industrial 
Mechanism  ;  from  highest  dying  for  your  country,  to  lowest 
quarrying  and  coal-boring  for  it,  a  Nation's  Life  depends 
upon  its  Land.  Again  and  again  we  have  to  say,  there  can 
be  no  true  Aristocracy  but  must  possess  the  Land. 

Men  talk  of  'selling'  Land.  Land,  it  is  true,  like  Epic 
Poems  and  even  higher  things,  in  such  a  trading  world,  has 
to  be  presented  in  the  market  for  what  it  will  bring,  and  as 
we  say  be  '  sold  : '  but  the  notion  of  '  selling,'  for  certain  bits 
of  metal,  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  how  much  more  the  Land  of  the 
World-Creator,  is  a  ridiculous  impossibility  !  We  buy  what 
is  saleable  of  it ;  nothing  more  was  ever  buyable.  Who  can, 
or  could,  sell  it  to  us  ?  Properly  speaking,  the  Land  belongs 
to  these  two  :  To  the  Almighty  God  ;  and  to  all  His  Children 
of  Men  that  have  ever  worked  well  on  it,  or  that  shall  ever 
work  well  on  it.  No  generation  of  men  can  or  could,  with 
never  such  solemnity  and  effort,  sell  Land  on  any  other  prin 


170 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


ciple  :  it  is  not  the  property  of  any  generation,  we  say,  but 
that  of  all  the  past  generations  that  have  worked  on  it,  and 
of  all  the  future  ones  that  shall  work  on  it. 

Again,  we  hear  it  said,  The  soil  of  England,  or  of  any  coun- 
try, is  properly  worth  nothing,  except  £  the  labour  bestowed 
on  it.'  This,  speaking  even  in  the  language  of  Eastcheap,  is 
not  correct.  The  rudest  space  of  country  equal  in  extent  to 
England,  could  a  whole  English  Nation,  with  all  their  habi- 
tudes, arrangements,  skills,  with  whatsoever  they  do  carry 
within  the  skins  of  them,  and  cannot  be  stript  of,  suddenly 
take  wing,  and  alight  on  it, — would  be  worth  a  very  consider- 
able thing !  Swiftly,  within  year  and  day,  this  English  Na- 
tion, with  its  multiplex  talents  of  ploughing,  spinning,  ham- 
mering, mining,  road-making  and  trafficking,  would  bring  a 
handsome  value  out  of  such  a  space  of  country.  On  the 
other  hand,  fancy  what  an  English  Nation,  once  'on  the 
wing,'  could  have  done  with  itself,  had  there  been  simply  no 
soil,  not  even  an  inarable  one,  to  alight  on  ?  Vain  all  its  tal- 
ents for  ploughing,  hammering,  and  whatever  else  ;  there  is 
no  Earth-room  for  this  Nation  with  its  talents  :  this  Nation 
will  have  to  keep  hovering  on  the  wing,  dolefully  shrieking  to 
and  fro  ;  and  perish  piecemeal  ;  burying  itself,  down  to  the 
last  soul  of  it,  in  the  waste  unfirmamented  seas.  Ah  yes, 
soil,  with  or  without  ploughing,  is  the  gift  of  God.  The  soil 
of  all  countries  belongs  evermore,  in  a  very  considerable 
degree,  to  the  Almighty  Maker !  The  last  stroke  of  labour 
bestowed  on  it  is  not  the  making  of  its  value,  but  only  the 
increasing  thereof. 

It  is  very  strange,  the  degree  to  which  these  truisms  are 
forgotten  in  our  days  ;  how,  in  the  ever-whirling  chaos  of 
Formulas,  we  have  quietly  lost  sight  of  Fact, — which  it  is 
so  perilous  not  to  keep  for  ever  in  sight.  Fact,  if  we  do  not 
see  it,  will  make  us  feel  it  by  and  by  ! — From  much  loud 
controversy  and  Corn-Law  debating  there  rises,  loud  though 
inarticulate,  once  more  in  these  years,  this  very  question 
among  others,  Who  made  the  Land  of  England  ?  Who  made 
it,  this  respectable  English  Land,  wheat-growing,  metallifer- 
ous, carboniferous,  which  will  let  readily  hand  over  head  for 


UN  WORKING  ARISTO  CRA  C  Y. 


171 


seventy  millions  or  upwards,  as  it  here  lies  :  who  did  make 
it? — "  We  !  "  answer  the  much-comumi?ig  Aristocracy  ;  "  We  ! " 
as  they  ride  in,  moist  with  the  sweat  of  Melton  Mowbray  : 
"It  is  we  that  made  it ;  or  are  the  heirs,  assigns  and  repre- 
sentatives of  those  who  did  !  " — My  brothers,  You  ?  Ever- 
lasting honor  to  you,  then  ;  and  Corn-Laws  as  many  as  you 
will,  till  your  own  deep  stomachs  cry  Enough,  or  some  voice 
of  human  pity  for  our  famine  bids  you  Hold  !  Ye  are^  as 
gods,  that  can  create  soil.  Soil-creating  gods  there  is  no 
withstanding.  They  have  the  might  to  sell  wheat  at  what 
price  they  list ;  and  the  right,  to  all  lengths,  and  famine- 
lengths, — if  they  be  pitiless  infernal  gods  !  Celestial  gods,  I 
think,  would  stop  short  of  the  famine-price ;  but  no  infernal 
nor  any  kind  of  god  can  be  bidden  stop  !  Infatuated  mor- 
tals, into  what  questions  are  you  driving  every  thinking  man 
in  England ! 

I  say,  you  did  not  make  the  Land  of  England  ;  and,  by  the 
possession  of  it,  you  are  bound  to  furnish  guidance  and  gov- 
ernance to  England  !  That  is  the  law  of  your  position  on 
this  God's-Earth  ;  an  everlasting  act  of  Heaven's  Parliament, 
not  repealable  in  St.  Stephen's  or  elsewhere  !  True  govern- 
ment and  guidance  ;  not  no-government  and  Laissez-faire  ; 
how  much  less,  misgovernment  and  Corn -Law  !  There  is  not 
an  imprisoned  Worker  looking  out  from  these  Bastilles  but 
appeals,  very  audibly  in  Heaven's  High  Courts,  against  you, 
and  me,  and  every  one  who  is  not  imprisoned,  "  Why  am  I 
here  ?  "  His  appeal  is  audible  in  Heaven  ;  and  will  become 
audible  enough  on  Earth  too,  if  it  remain  unheeded  here. 
His  appeal  is  against  you,  foremost  of  all ;  you  stand  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  accused ;  you,  by  the  very  place  you  hold, 
have  first  of  all  to  answer  him  and  Heaven  ! 

What  looks  maddest,  miserablest  in  these  mad  and  miser- 
able Corn-Laws  is  independent  altogether  of  their  '  effect  on 
wages,'  their  effect  on  'increase  of  trade,'  or  any  other  such 
effect :  it  is  the  continual  maddening  proof  they  protrude  into 
the  faces  of  all  men,  that  our  Governing  Class,  called  by  God 
and  Nature  and  the  inflexible  law  of  Fact,  either  to  do  some- 


172 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


thing  towards  governing,  or  to  die  and  be  abolished, — have 
not  yet  learned  even  to  sit  still,  and  do  no  mischief !  For  no 
Anti-Corn-Law  League  yet  asks  more  of  them  than  this  ; — 
Nature  and  Fact,  very  imperatively,  asking  so  much  more  of 
them.  Anti-Corn-Law  League  asks  not,  Do  something  ;  but, 
Cease  your  destructive  misdoing,  Do  ye  nothing ! 

Nature's  message  will  have  itself  obeyed  :  messages  of  mere 
Free-Trade,  Anti-Corn-Law  League  and  Laissez-faire,  wTill  then 
need  small  obeying  ! — Ye  fools,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
work,  work,  at  the  Ark  of  Deliverance  for  yourselves  and  us, 
while  hours  are  still  granted  you  !  No  :  instead  of  working 
at  the  Ark,  they  say,  "  We  cannot  get  our  hands  kept  rightly 
warm  ; "  and  sit  obstinately  burning  the  planks.  No  madder 
spectacle  at  present  exhibits  itself  under  this  Sun. 

The  Working  Aristocracy  ;  Mill-owners,  Manufacturers, 
Commanders  of  Working  Men :  alas,  against  them  also  much 
shall  be  brought  in  accusation;  much, — and  the  freest  Trade 
in  Corn,  total  abolition  of  Tariffs,  and  uttermost  '  Increase  of 
Manufactures'  and  c Prosperity  of  Commerce,'  will  perma- 
nently mend  no  jot  of  it.  The  Working  Aristocracy  must 
strike  into  a  new  path  ;  must  understand  that  money  alone  is 
not  the  representative  either  of  man's  success  in  the  world,  or 
of  man's  duties  to  man  ;  and  reform  their  own  selves  from 
top  to  bottom,  if  they  wish  England  reformed.  England  will 
not  be  habitable  long  unreformed. 

The  Working  Aristocracy — Yes,  but  on  the  threshold  of 
all  this,  it  is  again  and  again  to  be  asked,  What  of  the  Idle 
Aristocracy  ?  Again  and  again,  What  shall  we  say  of  the  Idle 
Aristocracy,  the  Owners  of  the  Soil  of  England  ;  whose  rec- 
ognised function  is  that  of  handsomely  consuming  the  rents 
of  England,  shooting  the  partridges  of  England,  and  as  an 
agreeable  amusement  (if  the  purchase-money  and  other  con- 
veniences serve),  dilettante-ing  in  Parliament  and  Quarter- 
Sessions  for  England?  We  will  say  mournfully,  in  the 
presence  of  Heaven  and  Earth, — that  we  stand  speechless, 
stupent,  and  know  not  what  to  say !  That  a  class  of  men  en- 
titled to  live  sumptuously  on  the  marrow  of  the  earth  ;  per- 


UN  WORKING  ARIS  TO  OR  A  C  Y. 


173 


mitted  simply,  nay  entreated,  and  as  yet  entreated  in  vain,  to 
do  nothing  at  all  in  return,  was  never  heretofore  seen  on  the 
face  of  this  Planet.  That  such  a  class  is  transitory,  excep- 
tional, and,  unless  Nature's  Laws  fall  dead,  cannot  continue. 
That  it  has  continued  now  a  moderate  while  ;  has,  for  the  last 
fifty  years,  been  rapidly  attaining  its  state  of  perfection.  That 
it  will  have  to  find  its  duties  and  do  them  ;  or  else  that  it 
must  and  will  cease  to  be  seen  on  the  face  of  this  Planet, 
which  is  a  Working  one,  not  an  Idle  one. 

Alas,  alas,  the  Working  Aristocracy,  admonished  by  Trades- 
unions,  Chartist  conflagrations,  above  all  by  their  own  shrewd 
sense  kept  in  perpetual  communion  with  the  fact  of  things, 
will  assuredly  reform  themselves,  and  a  working  world  will 
still  be  possible  : — but  the  fate  of  the  Idle  Aristocracy,  as  one 
reads  its  horoscope  hitherto  in  Corn-Laws  and  such  like,  is  an 
abyss  that  fills  one  with  despair.  Yes,  my  rosy  fox-hunting 
brothers,  a  terrible  Hippocratic  look  reveals  itself  (God  knows, 
not  to  my  joy)  through  those  fresh  buxom  countenances  of 
yours.  Through  your  Corn-Law  Majorities,  Sliding-Scales, 
Protecting-Duties,  Bribery-Elections  and  triumphant  Kentish- 
fire,  a  thinking  eye  discerns  ghastly,  images  of  ruin,  too 
ghastly  for  words  ;  a  handwriting  as  of  Mene,  Mene.  Men 
and  brothers,  on  your  Sliding-scale  you  seem  sliding,  and  to 
have  slid, — you  little  know  whither !  Good  God  !  did  not  a 
French  Donothing  Aristocracy,  hardly  above  half  a  century 
ago,  declare  in  like  manner,  and  in  its  featherhead  believe 
in  like  manner,  "  We  cannot  exist,  and  continue  to  dress  and 
parade  ourselves,  on  the  just  rent  of  the  soil  of  France  ;  but 
we  must  have  farther  payment  than  rent  of  the  soil,  we  must 
be  exempted  from  taxes  too," — we  must  have  a  Corn-Law  to 
extend  our  rent?  This  was  in  1789:  in  four  years  more — 
Did  you  look  into  the  Tanneries  of  Meudon,  and  the  long- 
naked  making  for  themselves  breeches  of  human  skins  ! 
May  the  merciful  Heavens  avert  the  omen  ;  may  we  be  wiser, 
that  so  we  be  less  wretched. 

A  High  Class  without  duties  to  do  is  like  a  tree  planted  on 
precipices  ;  from  the  roots  of  which  all  the  earth  has  been 


174 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


crumbling.  Nature  owns  no  man  who  is  not  a  Martyr 
withal.  Is  there  a  man  who  pretends  to  live  luxuriously 
housed  up  ;  screened  from  all  work,  from  want,  danger,  hard- 
ships, the  victory  over  which  is  what  we  name  work  ; — he 
himself  to  sit  serene,  amid  down-bolsters  and  appliances,  and 
have  all  his  work  and  battling  done  by  other  men  ?  And  such 
man  calls  himself  a  noble-man  ?  His  fathers  worked  for  him, 
he'  says  ;  or  successfully  gambled  for  him  :  here  he  sits  ;  pro- 
fesses, not  in  sorrow  but  in  pride,  that  he  and  his  have  done 
no  work,  time  out  of  mind.  It  is  the  law  of  the  land,  and  is 
thought  to  be  the  law  of  the  Universe,  that  he,  alone  of  re- 
corded men,  shall  have  no  task  laid  on  him,  except  that  of 
eating  his  cooked  victuals,  and  not  flinging  himself  out  of 
window  Once  more  I  will  say,  there  was  no  stranger  specta- 
cle ever  shewn  under  this  Sun.  A  veritable  fact  in  our  Eng- 
land of  the  Nineteenth  Century.  His  victuals  he  does  eat :  but 
as  for  keeping  in  the  inside  of  the  window, — have  not  his 
friends,  like  me,  enough  to  do  ?  Truly,  looking  at  his  Corn- 
Laws,  Game-Laws,  Chandos-Clauses,  Bribery-Elections  and 
much  else,  you  do  shudder  over  the  tumbling  and  plunging- 
he  makes,  held  back* by  the  lappelles  and  coatskirts  ;  only  a 
thin  fence  of  window-glass  before  him, — and  in  the  street 
mere  horrid  iron  spikes  !  My  sick  brother,  as  in  hospital- 
maladies  men  do,  thou  dream  est  of  Paradises  and  Eldorados, 
which  are  far  from  thee.  *  Cannot  I  do  what  I  like  with  my 
own  ? '  Gracious  Heaven,  my  brother,  this  that  thou  seest 
with  those  sick  eyes  is  no  firm  Eldorado,  and  Corn-Law  Para- 
dise of  Donothings,  but  a  dream  of  thy  own  fevered  brain.  It 
is  a  glass-window,  I  tell  thee,  so  many  stories  from  the  street ; 
where  are  iron  spikes  and  the  law  of  gravitation ! 

What  is  the  meaning  of  nobleness,  if  this  be  1  noble  ? '  In  a 
valiant  suffering  for  others,  not  in  a  slothful  making  others 
suffer  for  us,  did  nobleness  ever  lie.  The  chief  of  men  is  he 
who  stands  in  the  van  of  men  ;  fronting  the  peril  which 
frightens  back  all  others  ;  which,  if  it  be  not  vanquished,  will 
devour  the  others.  Every  noble  crown  is,  and  on  Earth  will 
forever  be,  a  crown  of  thorns.  The  Pagan  Hercules,  why  was 
he  accounted  a  hero  ?    Because  he  had  slain  Nemean  Lions 


UN  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


175 


cleansed  Augean  Stables,  undergone  Twelve  Labours  only  not 
too  heavy  for  a  god.  In  modern,  as  in  ancient  and  all  societies, 
the  Aristocracy,  they  that  assume  the  functions  of  an  Aristoc- 
racy, doing  them  or  not,  have  taken  the  post  of  honour  ;  which 
is  the  post  of  difficulty,  the  post  of  danger, — of  death,  if  the 
difficulty  be  not  overcome.  II  faut  payer  de  sa  vie.  Why  was 
our  life  given  us,  if  not  that  we  should  manfully  give  it  ? 
Descend,  O  Donothing  Pomp  :  quit  thy  down-cushions ;  ex- 
pose thyself  to  learn  what  wretches  feel,  and  how  to  cure  it ! 
The  Czar  of  Eussia  became  a  dusty  toiling  shipwright ;  worked 
with  his  axe  in  the  Docks  of  Saardam  ;  and  his  aim  was  small 
to  thine.  Descend  thou  :  undertake  this  horrid  6  living  chaos 
of  Ignorance  and  Hunger '  weltering  round  thy  feet ;  say,  "  I 
will  heal  it,  or  behold  I  will  die  foremost  in  it."  Such  is  verily 
ihe  law.  Everywhere  and  every  when  a  man  has  to  '  pay  with 
his  life  ; '  to  do  his  work,  as  a  soldier  does,  at  the  expense  of 
life.  In  no  Piepowder  earthly  Court  can  you  sue  an  Aristoc- 
rary  to  do  its  work,  at  this  moment :  but  in  the  Higher  Court, 
which  even  it  calls  '  Court  of  Honour,'  and  which  is  the  Court 
of  Necessity  withal,  and  the  eternal  Court  of  the  Universe,  in 
which  all  Facts  comes  to  plead,  and  every  Human  Soul  is  an 
apparitor,  — the  Aristocracy  is  answerable,  and  even  now  an- 
swering, there. 

Parchments  ?  Parchments  are  venerable  :  but  they  ought 
at  all  times  to  represent,  as  near  as  they  by  possibility  can, 
the  writing  of  the  Adamant  Tablets ;  otherwise  they  are  not 
so  venerable  !  Benedict  the  Jew  in  vain  pleaded  parchments  ; 
his  usuries  were  too  many.  The  King  said,  "  Go  to,  for  all 
thy  parchments,  thou  shalt  pay  just  debt ;  down  with  thy 
dust,  or  observe  this  tooth-forceps !  "  Nature,  a  far  juster 
Sovereign,  has  far  terribler  forceps  ! "  Aristocracies,  actual 
and  imaginary,  reach  a  time  when  parchment  pleading  does 
not  avail  them.  "  Go  to,  for  all  thy  parchments,  thou  shalt 
pay  due  debt !  "  shouts  the  Universe  to  them,  in  an  emphatic 
manner.  They  refuse  to  pay,  confidently  pleading  parch- 
ment :  their  best  grinder-tooth,  with  horrible  agony,  goes  out 
of  their  jaw.  Wilt  thou  pay  now  ?  A  second  grinder,  again  in 


176 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


horrible  agony,  goes  :  a  second,  and  a  third,  and  if  need  be, 
all  the  teeth  and  grinders,  and  the  life  itself  with  them  ; — and 
then  there  is  free  payment,  and  an  anatomist  subject  into  the 
bargain  ! 

Keform  Bills,  Corn-Law  Abrogation  Bills,  and  then  Land- 
Tax  Bill,  Property-Tax  Bill,  and  still  dimmer  list  of  etceteras  ; 
grinder  after  grinder  : — my  lords  and  gentlemen,  it  were  bet- 
ter for  you  to  arise,  and  begin  doing  your  work,  than  sit  there 
and  plead  parchments ! 

We  write  no  chapter  on  the  Corn-Laws,  in  this  place  ;  the 
Corn-Laws  are  too  mad  to  have  a  Chapter.  There  is  a  certain 
immorality,  when  there  is  not  a  necessity,  in  speaking  about 
things  finished  ;  in  chopping  into  small  pieces  the  already 
slashed  and  slain.  "When  the  brains  are  out,  why  does  not  a 
Solecism  die  !  It  is  at  its  own  peril  if  it  refuse  to  die  ;  it 
ought  to  make  all  conceivable  haste  to  die,  and  get  itself 
buried!  The. trade  of  Anti-Corn-Law  Lecturer  in  these  days, 
still  an  indispensable,  is  a  highly  tragic  one. 

The  Corn-Laws  will  go,  and  even  soon  go  :  would  we  were 
all  as  sure  of  the  Millennium  as  they  are  of  going !  They  go 
swiftly  in  these  present  months  ;  with  an  increase  of  velocity, 
an  ever-deepening,  ever-widening  sweep  of  momentum,  truly 
notable.  It  is  at  the  Aristocracy's  own  damage  and  peril,  still 
more  than  at  any  other's  whatsoever,  that  the  Aristocracy 
maintains  them ; — at  a  damage,  say  only,  as  above  computed, 
of  a  ' hundred  thousand  pounds  an  hour!'  The  Corn-Laws 
keep  all  the  air  hot-fostered  by  their  fever- warmth,  much  that 
is  evil,  but  much  also,  how  much  that  is  good  and  indispensable, 
is  rapidly  coming  to  life  among  us ! 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


A  poor  Working  Mammonism  getting  itself  '  strangled  in 
the  partridge-nets  of  an  Unworking  Dilettantism,'  and  bellow- 
ing dreadfully,  and  already  black  in  the  face,  is  surely  a  dis- 
astrous spectacle  !    But  of  a  Midas-eared  Mammonism,  which 


WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


177 


indeed  at  bottom  all  pure  Mammonisms  are,  what  better  can 
you  expect  ?  No  better ; — if  not  this,  then  something  other 
equally  disastrous,  if  not  still  more  disastrous.  Mammonisms, 
grown  asinine,  have  to  become  human  again,  and  rational ; 
they  have,  on  the  whole,  to  cease  to  be  Mammonisms,  were  it 
even  on  compulsion,  and  pressure  of  the  hemp  round  their 
neck  !■ — My  friends  of  the  Working  Aristocracy,  there  are  now 
a  great  many  things  which  you  also,  in  your  extreme  need, 
will  have  to  consider. 

The  Continental  people,  it  would  seem,  are  ' exporting  our 
'machinery,  beginning  to  spin  cotton  and  manufacture  for 
'themselves,  to  cut  us  out  of  this  market  and  then  out  of  that ! ' 
Sad  news  indeed  ;  but  irremediable  ; — by  no  means  the  sad- 
dest news.  The  saddest  news  is,  that  we  should  find  our 
National  Existence,  as  I  sometimes  hear  it  said,  depend  on 
selling  manufactured  cotton  at  a  farthing  an  ell  cheaper  than 
any  other  People.  A  most  narrow  stand  for  a  great  Nation 
to  base  itself  on  !  A  stand  which,  with  all  the  Corn-Law  Abro- 
gations conceivable,  I  do  not  think  will  be  capable  of  enduring. 

My  friends,  suppose  we  quitted  that  stand  ;  suppose  we  came 
honestly  down  from  it,  and  said  :  "  This  is  our  minimum  of  cot- 
ton-prices. "We  care  not,  for  the  present,  to  make  cotton  any 
cheaper.  Do  you,  if  it  seem  so  blessed  to  you,  make  cotton 
cheaper.  Fill  your  lungs  with  cotton-fuz,  your  hearts  with 
copperas-fumes,  with  rage  and  mutiny  ;  become  ye  the  general 
gnomes  of  Europe,  slaves  of  the  lamp  ! " — I  admire  a  Nation 
which  fancies  it  will  die  if  it  do  not  undersell  all  other  Nations, 
to  the  end  of  the  world.  Brothers,  we  will  cease  to  undersell 
them  ;  we  will  be  content  to  equal-sell  them  ;  to  be  happy  sell- 
ing equally  with  them  !  I  do  not  see  the  use  of  underselling 
them.  Cotton-cloth  is  already  two-pence  a  yard  or  lower  ;  and 
yet  bare  backs  were  never  more  numerous  among  us.  Let  in- 
ventive men  cease  to  spend  their  existence  incessantly  con- 
triving how  cotton  can  be  made  cheaper  ;  and  try  to  invent,  a 
little,  how  cotton  at  its  present  cheapness  could  be  somewhat 
justlier  divided  among  us.  Let  inventive  men  consider, 
Whether  the  Secret  of  this  Universe,  and  of  Man's  Life  there, 
12 


178 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


does,  after  all,  as  we,  rashly  fancy  it,  consist  in  making  money  ? 
There  is  One  God,  just,  supreme,  almighty :  but  is  Mammon 
the  name  of  him  ? — With  a  Hell  which  means  '  Failing  to  make 
money,'  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  Heaven  possible  that  would 
suit  one  well ;  nor  so  much  as  an  Earth  that  can  be  habitable 
long !  In  brief,  all  this  Mammon- Gospel,  of  Supply-and-de- 
mand,  Competition,  Laissez-faire,  and  Devil  take  the  hindmost, 
begins  to  be  one  of  the  shabbiest  Gospels  ever  preached  ;  or 
altogether  the  shabbiest.  Even  with  Dilettante  partridge-nets, 
and  at  a  horrible  expenditure  of  pain,  who  shall  regret  to  see 
the  entirely  transient,  and  at  best  somewhat  despicable  life 
strangled  out  of  it  ?  At  the  best,  as  we  say,  a  somewhat  despi- 
cable, un venerable  thing,  this  same  '  Laissez-faire  ; '  and  now, 
at  the  vjorst,  fast  growing  an  altogether  detestable  one  ! 

"But  what  is  to  be  done  with  our  manufacturing  popula- 
tion, with  our  agricultural,  with  our  ever-increasing  popula- 
tion?" cry  many. — Aye,  what?  Many  things  can  be  done 
with  them,  a  hundred  things,  and  a  thousand  things, — had  we 
once  got  a  soul  and  begun  to  try.  This  one  thing,  of  doing 
for  them  by  e  underselling  all  people/  and  filling  our  own 
bursten  pockets  and  appetites  by  the  road  ;  and  turning  over 
all  care  for  any  c  population,'  or  human  or  divine  consideration 
except  cash  only,  to  the  winds,  with  a  "  Laissez-faire  "  and  the 
rest  of  it :  this  is  evidently  not  the  thing.  Farthing  cheaper 
per  yard  ?  No  great  Nation  can  stand  on  the  apex  of  such  a 
pyramid;  screwing  itself  higher  and  higher  ;  balancing  itself 
on  its  great-toe  !  Can  England  not  subsist  without  being 
above  all  people  in  working  ?  England  never  deliberately  pur- 
posed such  a  thing.  If  England  work  better  than  all  people, 
it  shall  be  well.  England,  like  an  honest  worker,  will  work 
as  well  as  she  can  ;  and  hope  the  gods  may  allow  her  to  live 
on  that  basis.  Laissez-faire  and  much  else  being  once  well 
dead,  how  many  6  impossibles  9  will  become  possible  !  They 
are  impossible,  as  cotton-cloth  at  two-pence  an  ell  was—  till 
men  set  about  making  it.  The  inventive  genius  of  great  Eng- 
land will  not  forever  sit  patient  with  mere  wheels  and  pinions, 
bobbins,  straps  and  billy-rollers  whirring  in  the  head  of  it. 
The  inventive  genius  of  England  is  not  a  Beaver's,  or  a  Spin- 


WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


179 


ner's  or  Spider's  genius  :  it  is  a  Mans  genius,  I  hope,  with  a 
God  over  him  ! 

Laissez-faire,  Supply-and-demand, — one  begins  to  be  weary 
of  all  that.  Leave  all  to  egoism,  to  ravenous  greed  of  money, 
of  pleasure,  of  applause  ;— it  is  the  Gospel  of  Despair  !  Man 
is  a  Patent-Digester,  then  :  only  give  him  Free  Trade,  Free 
digesting  room  ;  and  each  of  us  digest  what  he  can  come 
at,  leaving  the  rest  to  Fate !  My  unhappy  brethren  of  the 
Working  Mammonism,  my  unhappy  brethren  of  the  Idle 
Dilettantism,  no  world  was  ever  held  together  in  that  way  for 
long.  A  world  of  mere  Patent-Digesters  will  soon  have 
nothing  to  digest  ;  such  world  ends,  and  by  Law  of  Nature 
must  end,  in  e  over-population  ; '  in  howling  universal  famine, 
4  impossibility,'  and  suicidal  madness,  as  of  endless  dog-ken- 
nels run  rabid.  Supply-and-demand  shall  do  its  full  part, 
and  Free  Trade  shall  be  free  as  air  ;  thou  of  the  shotbelts, 
see  thou  forbid  it  not,  with  those  paltry,  worm  than  Mam- 
monish swindleries  and  Sliding-scales  of  thine,  which  are 
seen  to  be  swindleries  for  all  thy  canting,  which  in  times 
like  ours  are  very  scandalous  to  see  !  And  trade  never  so 
well  freed,  and  all  Tariffs  settled  or  abolished,  and  Supj^ly- 
and-demand  in  full  operation, — let  us  all  know  that  we  have 
yet  done  nothing  ;  that  we  have  merely  cleared  the  ground 
for  doing. 

Yes,  were  the  Corn-Laws  ended  tomorrow,  there  is  nothing 
yet  ended  ;  there  is  only  room  made  for  all  manner  of  things 
beginning.  The  Corn-Laws  gone,  and  Trade  made  free,  it  is 
as  good  as  certain  this  paralysis  of  industry  will  pass  away. 
We  shall  have  another  period  of  commercial  enterprise,  of 
victory  and  prosperity ;  during  which,  it  is  likely,  much 
money  will  again  be  made,  and  all  the  people  may,  by  the  ex- 
tant methods,  still  for  a  space  of  years,  be  kept  alive  and  phy- 
sically fed.  The  strangling  band  of  Famine  will  be  loosened 
from  our  necks  ;  we  shall  have  room  again  to  breathe  ;  time 
to  bethink  ourselves,  to  repeat  and  consider !  A  precious 
and  thrice-precious  space  of  years  ;  wherein  to  struggle  as  for 
life  in  reforming  our  foul  ways  ;  in  alleviating,  instructing, 
regulating  our  people  ;  seeking  as  for  life,  that  something 


ISO 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


like  spiritual  food  be  imparted  them,  some  real  governance  and 
guidance  be  provided  them  !  It  will  be  a  priceless  time. 
For  our  new  period  or  paroxysm  of  commercial  prosperity 
will  and  can,  on  the  old  methods  of  '  Competition  and  Devil 
take  the  hindmost,'  prove  but  a  paroxysm  :  a  new  paroxysm, — 
likely  enough,  if  we  do  not  use  it  better,  to  be  our  last.  In 
tins,  of  itself,  is  no  salvation.  If  our  Trade  in  twenty  years1 
'  flourishing  '  as  never  Trade  flourished,  could  double  itself  ; 
yet  then  also,  by  the  old  Laissez-faire  method,  jour  Population 
is  doubled  :  we  shall  then  be  as  we  are,  only  twice  as  many  of 
us,  twice  and  ten  times  as  unmanageable  ! 

All  this  dire  misery,  therefore  ;  all  this  of  our  poor  Work- 
house Workmen,  of  our  Chartisms,  Trades-strikes,  Corn-Laws, 
Toryisms,  and  the  general  downbreak  of  Laissez-faire  in  these 
days, — may  we  not  regard  it  as  a  voice  from  the  dumb  bosom 
of  Nature,  saying  to  us  :  "  Behold  !  Supply-and-demand  is 
not  the  one  Law  of  Nature  ;  Cash-payment  is  not  the  sole 
nexus  of  man  with  man, — how  far  from  it !  Deep,  far  deeper 
than  Supply-and-demand,  are  Laws,  Obligations  sacred  as 
Man's  Life  itself :  these  also,  if  you  will  continue  to  do 
work,  you  shall  now  learn  and  obey.  He  that  will  learn  them, 
behold  Nature  is  on  his  side,  he  shall  yet  w^ork  and  prosper 
with  noble  rewards.  He  that  will  not  learn  them,  Nature  is 
against  him,  he  shall  not  be  able  to  do  work  in  Nature's  em- 
pire,— not  in  hers.  Perpetual  mutiny,  contention,  hatred, 
isolation,  execration  shall  wait  on  his  footsteps,  till  all  men 
discern  that  the  thing  which  he  attains;  however  golden  it 
look  or  be,  is  not  success,  but  the  want  of  success." 

Supply-and-demand,  — alas  !  For  what  noble  wrork  was  there 
ever  yet  any  audible  6  demand '  in  that  poor  sense  ?  The 
man  of'  Macedonia,  speaking  in  vision  to  an  Apostle  Paul, 
"Come  over  and  help  us,"  did  not  specify  what  rate  of  wages 
he  would  give  !  Or  was  the  Christian  Keligion  itself  accom- 
plished by  Prize-Essays,  Bridgewater  Bequests,  and  a  '  mini- 
mum of  Four  thousand  Ave  hundred  a  year  ?  No  demand  that 
I  heard  of  wras  made  then,  audible  in  any  Labour-market,  Man- 
chester Chamber  of  Commerce,  or  other  the  like  emporium  and 


WORKING  ARISTOCRACY. 


181 


hiring  establishment ;  silent  were  all  these  from  any  whisper 
of  such  demand  ; — powerless  were  all  these  to  *  supply '  it, 
had  the  demand  been  in  thunder  and  earthquake,  with  gold 
Eldorados  and  Mahometan  Paradises  for  the  reward.  Ah 
me,  into  what  waste  latitudes,  in  this  Time- Voyage,  have  we 
wandered  ;  like  adventurous  Sindbads  ; — where  the  men  go 
about  as  if  by  galvanism,  with  meaningless  glaring  eyes,  and 
have  no  soul,  but  only  a  beaver-faculty  and  stomach  !  The 
haggard  despair  of  Cotton-factory,  Coai-mine  operatives,  Chan- 
dos  Farm-labourers,  in  these  days,  is  painful  to  behold  ;  but 
not  so  painful,  hideous  to  the  inner  sense,  as  that  brutish 
godforgetting  Profit- and-Loss  Philosophy,  and  Life-theory, 
which  we  hear  jangled  on  all  hands  of  us,  in  senate-houses, 
spouting-clubs,  leading-articles,  pulpits  and  platforms,  every- 
where, as  the  Ultimate  Gospel  and  candid  Plain-English  of 
Man's  Life,  from  the  throats  and  pens  and  thoughts  of  all  but 
all  men ! — 

Enlightened  Philosophies,  like  Moliere  Doctors,  will  tell 
you :  "  Enthusiasms,  Self-sacrifice,  Heaven,  Hell  and  such 
like  :  yes,  all  that  was  true  enough  for  old  stupid  times  ;  all 
that  used  to  be  true :  but  we  have  changed  all  that,  nous  avons 
change  tout  cela  !  "  Well  ;  if  the  heart  be  got  round  now 
into  the  right  side,  and  the  liver  to  the  left  ;  if  man  have  no 
heroism  in  him  deeper  than  a  wish  to  eat,  and  in  his  soul 
there  dwell  now  no  Infinite  of  Hope  and  Awe,  and  no  divine 
Silence  can  become  imperative  because  it  is  not  Sinai  Thunder, 
and  no  tie  will  bind  if  it  be  not  that  of  Tyburn  gallows-ropes, 
r — then  verily  you  have  changed  all  that ;  and  for  it,  and  for 
you,  and  for  me,  behold  the  Abyss  and  nameless  Annihilation 
is  ready.  So  scandalous  a  beggarly  Universe  deserves  indeed 
nothing  else  ;  I  cannot  say  I  would  save  it  from  annihilation. 
Vacuum,  and  the  serene  Blue,  will  be  much  handsomer  ; 
easier  too  for  all  of  us.  I,  for  one,  decline  living  as  a  Patent- 
Digester.  Patent-Digester,  Spinning-Mule,  Mayfair  Clothes- 
Horse  :  many  thanks,  but  your  Chaosships  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  excuse  me ! 


182 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT. 

One  thing  I  do  know  :  Never,  on  this  Earth  was  the  rela- 
tion of  man  to  man  long  carried  on  by  Cash-payment  alone. 
If,  at  any  time,  a  philosophy  of  Laissez-faire,  Competition  and 
Supply-and-demand,  start  up  as  the  exponent  of  human  re- 
lations, expect  that  it  will  soon  end. 

Such  philosophies  will  arise  :  for  man's  philosophies  are 
usually  the  £  supplement  of  his  practice  ; '  some  ornamental 
Logic-varnish,  some  outer  skin  of  Articulate  Intelligence,  with 
which  he  strives  to  render  his  dumb  Instinctive  doings  pre- 
sentable when  they  are  done.  Such  philosophies  will  arise  ; 
be  preached  as  Mammon-Gospels,  the  ultimate  Evangel  of  the 
World  ;  be  believed,  with  what  is  called  belief,  with  much 
superficial  bluster,  and  a  kind  of  shallow  satisfaction  real  in 
its  way  : — but  they  are  ominous  gospels  !  They  are  the  sure, 
and  even  swift  forerunner  of  great  changes.  Expect  that  the 
old  System  of  Society  is  done,  is  dying  and  falling  into 
dotage,  when  it  begins  to  rave  in  that  fashion.  Most  Systems 
that  I  have  watched  the  death  of,  for  the  last  three  thousand 
years,  have  gone  just  so.  The  Ideal,  the  True  and  Noble  that- 
was  in  them  having  faded  out,  and  nothing  now  remaining 
but  naked  Egoism,  vulturous  Greediness,  they  cannot  live  ; 
they  are  bound  and  inexorably  ordained  by  the  oldest  Desti- 
nies, Mothers  of  the  Universe,  to  die.  Curious  enough  ;  they 
thereupon,  as  I  have  pretty  generally  noticed,  devise  some 
light  comfortable  kind  of  '  wine-and-walnuts  philosophy '  for 
themselves,  this  of  Supply-and-demand  or  another  ;  and  keep 
saying,  during  hours  of  mastication  and  rumination,  which 
they  call  hours  of  meditation  :  "  Soul,  take  thy  ease,  it  is  all 
well  that  thou  art  a  vulture-soul ;  " — and  pangs  of  dissolution 
come  upon  them,  oftenest  before  they  are  aware ! 

Cash-payment  never  was,  or  could  except  for  a  few  years 
be,  the  union-bond  of  man  to  man.  Cash  never  yet  paid  one 
man  fully  his  deserts  to  another  ;  nor  could  it,  nor  can  it, 


PLUG  SON  OF  UNDERSHOT. 


183 


now  or  henceforth  to  the  end  of  the  world.  I  invite  his 
Grace  of  Castle  Kack-rent  to  reflect  on  this, — does  he  think 
that  a  Land  Aristocracy  when  it  becomes  a  Land  Auctioneer- 
ship  can  have  long  to  live  ?  Or  that  Sliding-scales  will  in- 
crease the  vital  stamina  of  it  ? — The  indomitable  Plugson  too, 
of  the  respected  Firm  of  Plugson,  Hunks  and  Company,  in 
St.  Dolly  Undershot,  is  invited  to  reflect  on  this  ;  for  to  him 
also  it  will  be  new,  perhaps  even  newer.  Bookkeeping  by 
double  entry  is  admirable,  and  records  several  things  in  an 
exact  manner.  But  the  Mother-Destinies  also  keep  their 
Tablets  ;  in  Heaven's  Chancery  also  there  goes  on  a  record- 
ing ;  and  things,  as  my  Moslem  friends  say,  are  c  written  on 
the  iron-leaf.5 

Your  Grace  and  Plugson,  it  is  like,  go  to  Church  oc- 
casionally :  did  you  never  in  vacant  moments,  with  perhaps  a 
dull  parson  droning  to  you,  glance  into  your  New  Testament, 
and  the  cash-account  stated  four  times  over,  by  a  kind  of 
quadruple  entry, — in  the  Four  Gospels  there  ?  I  consider 
that  a  cash  account,  and  balance-statement  of  work  done  and 
wages  paid,  worth  attending  to.  Precisely  such,  though  on  a 
smaller  scale,  go  on  at  all  moments  under  this  Sun  ;  and  the 
statement  and  balance  of  them  in  the  Plugson  Ledgers  and 
on  the  Tablets  of  Heaven's  Chancery  are  discrepant  exceed- 
ingly ; — -which  ought  really  to  teach,  and  to  have  long  since 
taught,  an  indomitable  common- sense  Plugson  of  Undershot, 
much  more  an  unattackable  uncommon-sense  Grace  of  Kack- 
rent,  a  thing  or  two  ! — In  brief,  we  shall  have  to  dismiss  the 
Cash-Gospel  rigorously  into  its  own  place  :  we  shall  have  to 
know,  on  the  threshold,  that  either  there  is  some  infinitely 
deeper  Gospel,  subsidiary,  explanatory  and  daily  and  hourly 
corrective,  to  the  Cash  one  ;  or  else  that  the  Cash  one  itself 
and  all  others  are  fast  travelling  ! 

For  all  human  things  do  require  to  have  an  Ideal  in  them  ; 
to  have  some  Soul  in  them,  as  we  said,  were  it  only  to  keep 
the  Body  unputrefied.  And  wonderful  it  is  to  see  how  the 
Ideal  or  Soul,  place  it  in  what  ugliest  Body  you  may,  will  ir- 
radiate said  Body  with  its  own  nobleness  ;  will  gradually,  in- 


184 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


cessantly,  mould,  modify  new-form  or  reform  said  ugliest 
Body,  and  make  it  at  last  beautiful,  and  to  a  certain  degree 
divine  !  O,  if  you  could  dethrone  that  Brute-god  Mammon, 
and  put  a  Spirit-god  in  his  place  !  One  way  or  other,  he 
must  and  will  have  to  be  dethroned. 

Fighting,  for  example,  as  I  often  say  to  myself,  Fighting 
with  steel  murder-tools  is  surely  a  much  uglier  operation  than 
Working,  take  it  how  you  will.  Yet  even  of  Fighting,  in  re- 
ligious Abbot  Samson's  days,  see  what  a  Feudalism  there  had 
grown, — a  c  glorious  Chivalry,'  much  besung  down  to  the  pres- 
ent day.  Was  not  that  one  of  the  ' impossiblest '  things? 
Under  the  sky  is  no  uglier  spectacle  than  two  men  with 
clenched  teeth,  and  hellfire  eyes,  hacking  one  another's  flesh  ; 
converting  precious  living  bodies,  and  priceless  living  souls, 
into  nameless  masses  of  putrescence,  useful  only  for  turnip- 
manure.  How  did  a  Chivalry  ever  come  out  of  that ;  how 
anything  that  was  not  hideous,  scandalous,  infernal  ?  It  will 
be  a  question  worth  considering  by  and  by. 

I  remark,  for  the  present,  only  two  things  :  first,  that  the 
Fighting  itself  was  not,  as  we  rashly  suppose  it,  a  Fighting 
without  cause,  but  more  or  less  with  cause.  Man  is  created 
to  fight ;  he  is  perhaps  best  of  all  definable  as  a  born-soldier  ; 
his  life  '  a  battle  and  a  march,5  under  the  right  General.  It 
is  forever  indispensable  for  a  man  to  fight :  now  with  Neces- 
sity, with  Barrenness,  Scarcity,  with  Puddles,  Bogs,  tangled 
Forests,  unkempt  Cotton  ; — now  also  with  the  hallucinations 
of  his  poor  fellow  Men.  Hallucinatory  visions  rise  in  the 
head  of  my  poor  fellow  man  ;  make  him  claim  over  me  rights 
which  are  not  his.  All  Fighting,  as  we  noticed  long  ago,  is 
the  dusty  conflict  of  strengths,  each  thinking  itself  the  strong- 
est, or,  in  other  words,  the  justest ; — of  Mights  which  do  in 
the  long-run,  and  forever  will  in  this  just  Universe  in  the  long- 
run,  mean  Bights.  In  conflict  the  perishable  part  of  them, 
beaten  sufficiently,  flies  off  into  dust :  this  process  ended,  ap- 
pears the  imperishable,  the  true  and  exact. 

And  now  let  us  remark  a  second  thing  :  how,  in  these  bale- 
ful operations,  a  noble  devout-hearted  Chevalier  will  comfort 
himself,  and  an  ignoble  godless  Bucanier  and  Chactaw  Indian. 


PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT. 


1S5 


Victory  is  the  aim  of  each.  But  deep  in  the  heart  of  the 
noble  man  it  lies  forever  legible,  that,  as  an  Invisible  Just  God 
made  him,  so  will  and  must  God's  Justice  and  this  only,  were 
it  never  so  invisible,  ultimately  prosper  in  all  controversies 
and  enterprises  and  battles  whatsoever.  What  an  Influence  ; 
ever-present, — like  a  Soul  in  the  rudest  Caliban  of  a  body  ; 
like  a  ray  of  Heaven,  and  illuminative  creative  Fiat-Lux,  in  the 
wastest  terrestrial  Chaos  !  Blessed  divine  Influence,  traceable 
even  in  the  horror  of  Battlefields  and  garments  rolled  in  blood  : 
how  it  ennobles  even  the  Battlefield  ;  and,  in  place  of  a  Chac- 
taw  Massacre,  makes  it  a  Field  of  Honour !  A  Battlefield  too 
is  great.  Considered  well,  it  is  a  kind  of  Quintessence  of  La- 
bour ;  Labour  distilled  into  its  utmost  concentration  ;  the 
significance  of  years  of  it  compressed  into  an  hour.  Here  too 
thou  shalt  be  strong,  and  not  in  muscle  only,  if  thou  wouldst 
prevail.  Here  too  thou  shalt  be  strong  of  heart,  noble  of  soul ; 
thou  shalt  dread  no  pain  or  death,  thou  shalt  not  love  ease  or 
life  ;  in  rage,  thou  shalt  remember  mercy,  justice  ; — thou  shalt 
be  a  Knight  and  not  a  Chactaw,  if  thou  wouldst  prevail !  It 
is  the  rule  of  all  battles,  against  hallucinating  fellow  Men, 
against  unkempt  Cotton,  or  whatsoever  battles  they  may  be, 
which  a  man  in  this  world  has  to  fight. 

Howel  Davies  dyes  the  West  Indian  Seas  with  blood,  piles 
his  decks  with  plunder  ;  approves  himself  the  expertest  Sea- 
man, the  daringest  Seafighter  :  but  he  gains  no  lasting  victory, 
lasting  victory  is  not  possible  for  him.  Not,  had  he  fleets 
larger  than  the  combined  British  Navy  all  united  with  him  in 
bucaniering.  He,  once  for  all,  cannot  prosper  in  his  duel. 
He  strikes  down  his  man  :  yes  ;  but  his  man,  or  his  man's 
representative,  has  no  notion  to  lie  struck  down  :  neither, 
though  slain  ten  times,  will  he  keep  so  lying; — nor  has  the 
Universe  any  notion  to  keep  him  so  lying  !  On  the  contrary, 
the  Universe  and  he  have,  at  all  moments,  all  manner  of  mo- 
tives to  start  up  again,  and  desperately  fight  again.  Your 
Napoleon  is  flung  out,  at  last  to  St.  Helena  ;  the  latter  end  of 
him  sternly  compensating  the  beginning.  The  Bucanier  strikes 
down  a  man,  a  hundred  or  a  million  men  :  but  what  profits  it  ? 
He  has  one  enemy  never  to  be  struck  down  ;  nay  two  enemies ; 


1S6 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


Mankind  and  the  Maker  of  Men.  On  the  great  scale  or  on 
the  small,  in  fighting  of  men  or  fighting  of  difficulties,  I  will 
not  embark  my  venture  with  Howel  Davies :  it  is  not  the 
Bucanier,  it  is  the  Hero  only  that  can  gain  victory,  that  can 
do  more  than  seem  to  succeed.  These  things  will  deserve  medi- 
tating ;  for  they  apply  to  all  battle  and  soldiership,  all  strug- 
gle and  effort  whatsoever  in  this  Fight  of  Life.  It  is  a  poor 
Gospel,  Cash-Gospel  or  whatever  name  it  have,  that  does  not, 
with  clear  tone,  uncontradictable,  carrying  conviction  to  all 
hearts,  forever  keep  men  in  mind  of  these  things. 

Unhappily,  my  indomitable  friend  Plugson  of  Undershot 
has,  in  a  great  degree,  forgotten  them  ; — as,  alas,  all  the  world 
has  ;  as,  alas,  our  very  Dukes  and  Soul-Overseers  have,  whose 
special  trade  it  was  to  remember  them  !  Hence  these  tears. 
— Plugson,  who  has  indomitably  spun  Cotton  merely  to  gain 
thousands  of  pounds,  I  have  to  call  as  yet  a  Bucanier  and 
Chactaw  ;  till  there  come  something  better,  still  more  in- 
domitable from  him.  His  hundred  Thousand-pound  Notes, 
if  there  be  nothing  other,  are  tome  but  as  the  hundred  Scalps 
in  a  Chactaw  wigwam.  The  blind  Plugson  ;  he  was  a  Captain 
of  Industry,  born  member  of  the  Ultimate  genuine  Aristocracy 
of  this  Universe,  could  he  have  known  it !  These  thous- 
and men  that  span  and  toiled  round  him,  they  were  a  regi- 
ment whom  he  had  enlisted,  man  by  man  ;  to  make  wrar  on  a 
very  genuine  enemy :  Bareness  of  back,  and  disobedient  Cot- 
ton-fibre, which  will  not,  unless  forced  to  it,  consent  to  cover 
bare  backs,  Here  is  a  most  genuine  enemy  ;  over  whom  all 
creatures  will  wish  him  victory.  He  enlisted  his  thousand 
men ;  said  to  them,  "  Come,  brothers,  let  us  have  a  dash  at 
Cotton  ! "  They  follow  with  cheerful  shout ;  they  gain  such  a 
victory  over  Cotton  as  the  Earth  has  to  admire  and  clap  hands 
at :  but,  alas,  it  is  yet  only  of  the  Bucanier  or  Chactaw  sort, — 
as  good  as  no  victory  !  Foolish  Plugson  of  St.  Dolly  Under- 
shot :  does  he  hope  to  become  illustrious  by  hanging  up  the 
scalps  in  his  wigwam,  the  hundred  thousands  at  his  banker's, 
and  saying,  Behold  my  scalps  ?  Why  Plugson,  even  thy  own 
host  is  all  in  mutiny  :  Cotton  is  conquered  ;  but  the  '  bare 
backs  ' — are  worse  covered  than  ever  !    Indomitable  Plugson, 


PLUG  SON  OF  UNDERSHOT. 


1S7 


tliou  must  cease  to  be  a  Chactaw  ;  thou  and  others  ;  thou  thy- 
self, if  no  other  ! 

Did  William  the  Norman  Bastard,  or  any  of  his  Taillefers, 
Ironcutters,  manage  so  ?  Ironcutter,  at  the  end  of  the  cam- 
paign, did  not  turn  off  his  thousand  fighters,  but  said  to  them  : 
"  Noble  fighters,  this  is  the  land  we  have  gained  ;  be  I  Lord 
in  it, — what  we  will  call  Law-ward,  main  tain  er  and  keeper  of 
Heaven's  Laws :  be  I  Law-ward,  or  in  brief  orthoepy  Lord  in 
it,  and  be  ye  Loyal  Men  around  me  in  it  ;  and  we  will  stand 
by  one  another,  as  soldiers  round  a  captain,  for  again  we  shall 
have  need  of  one  another ! "  Plugson,  bucanier-like,  says  to 
them  :  "  Noble  spinners,  this  is  the  Hundred  Thousand  we 
have  gained,  wherein  I  mean  to  dwell  and  plant  vineyards  ; 
the  hundred  thousand  is  mine,  the  three  and  sixpence  daily 
was  yours  :  adieu,  noble  spinners  ;  drink  my  health  with  this 
groat  each,  which  I  give  you  over  and  above  !  "  The  entirely 
unjust  Captain  of  Industry,  say  I ;  not  Chevalier,  but  Buca- 
nier  !  '  Commercial  Law '  does  indeed  acquit  him  ;  asks,  with 
wide  eyes,  What  else  ?  So  too  Howel  Davies  asks,  Was  it  not 
according  to  the  strictest  Bucanier  Custom  ?  Did  I  depart  in 
any  jot  or  tittle  from  the  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  ? 

After  all,  money,  as  they  say,  is  miraculous.  Plugson 
wanted  victory  ;  as  Chevaliers  and  Bucaniers,  and  all  men 
alike  do.  He  found  money  recognised  by  the  whole  world 
with  one  assent,  as  the  true  symbol,  exact  equivalent  and 
synonym  of  victory  ; — and  here  we  have  him,  a  grimbrowed 
indomitable  Bucanier,  coming  home  to  us  with  a  'victory/ 
which  the  whole  world  is  ceasing  to  clap  hands  at !  The  whole 
world,  taught  somewhat  impressively,  is  beginning  to  recog- 
nise that  such  victory  is  but  half  a  victory  ;  and  that  now,  if  it 
please  the  Powers,  we  must — have  the  other  half  ! 

Money  is  miraculous.  What  miraculous  facilties  has  it 
yielded,  will  it  yield  us  ;  but  also  what  never-imagined  con- 
fusions, obscurations  has  it  brought  in  ;  down  almost  to  total 
extinction  of  the  moral-sense  in  large  masses  of  mankind  ! 
'Protection  of  property,'  of  what  is  'mine,'  means  with  most 
men  protection  of  money, — the  thing  which,  had  I  a  thousand 
padlocks  over  it,  is  least  of  all  mine  ;  is,  in  a  manner,  scarcely 


188 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


worth  calling  mine!  The. symbol  shall  be  held  sacred,  de- 
fended everywhere  with  tipstaves,  ropes  and  gibbets ;  the 
thing  signified  shall  be  composedly  cast  to  the  dogs.  A  human 
being  who  has  worked  with  human  beings  clears  all  scores 
with  them,  cuts  himself  with  triumphant  completeness  forever 
loose  from  them,  by  paying  down  certain  shillings  and  pounds. 
Was  it  not  the  wages  I  promised  you  ?  There  they  are,  to  the 
last  sixpence,  — according  to  the  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  ! — Yes, 
indeed  ; — and,  at  such  times,  it  becomes  imperatively  neces- 
sary to  ask  all  persons,  bucaniers  and  others,  Whether  these 
same  respectable  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  are  written  on  God's 
eternal  Heavens  at  all,  on  the  inner  Heart  of  Man  at  all ; 
or  on  the  respectable  Bucaniers  Logbook  merely,  for  the 
convenience  of  bucaniering  merely  ?  What  a  question  ; — 
whereat  Westminster  Hall  shudders  to  its  driest  parchment ; 
and  on  the  dead  wigs  each  particular  horse-hair  stands  on 
end ! 

The  Laws  of  Laissez-faire,  O  Westminster,  the  laws  of  in- 
dustrial Captain  and  industrial  Soldier,  how  much  more  of 
idle  Captain  and  industrial  Soldier,  will  need  to  be  remodelled, 
and  modified,  and  rectified  in  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  ways, 
— and  not  in  the  Sliding  scale  direction,  but  in  the  totally  op- 
posite one !  With  two  million  industrial  Soldiers  already  sit- 
ting in  Bastilles,  and  five  millions  pining  on  potatoes,  methinks 
Westminster  cannot  begin  too  soon  ! — A  man  has  other  obli- 
gations laid  on  him  in  God's  Universe,  than  the  payment  of 
cash :  these  also  Westminster,  if  it  will  continue  to  exist  and 
have  board-wages,  must  contrive  to  take  some  charge  of  : — 
by  Westminster  or  by  another,  they  must  and  will  be  taken 
charge  of ;  be,  with  whatever  difficulty,  got  articulated,  got 
enforced,  and  to  a  certain  approximate  extent,  put  in  practice. 
And,  as  I  say,  it  cannot  be  too  soon  !  For  Mammonism,  left 
to  itself,  has  become  Midas-eared  ;  and  with  all  its  gold  moun- 
tains, sits  starving  for  want  of  bread  :  and  Dilettantism  with 
its  partridge-nets,  in  this  extremely  earnest  Universe  of  ours, 
is  playing  somewhat  too  high  a  game.  '  A  man  by  the  very 
look  of  him  promises  so  much  : '  yes  ;  and  by  the  reni-roll  of 
him  does  he  promise  nothing  ? — 


LABOUR. 


189 


Alas,  what  a  business  will  this  be,  which  our  Continental 
friends,  groping  this  long  while  somewhat  absurdly  about  it 
and  about  it,  call  '  Organisation  of  Labour  — which  must  be 
taken  out  of  the  hands  of  absurd  windy  persons,  and  put  into 
the  hands  of  wise,  laborious,  modest  and  valiant  men,  to  begin 
with  it  straightway  :  to  proceed  with  it,  and  succeed  in  it  more 
and  more,  if  Europe,  at  any  rate  if  England,  is  to  continue 
habitable  much  longer.  Looking  at  the  kind  of  most  noble 
Corn-Law  Dukes  or  Practical  Duces  we  have,  and  also  of  right 
reverend  Soul-Overseers,  Christian  Spiritual  Duces  1  on  a  mini- 
mum of  four  thousand  five  hundred,'  one's  hopes  are  a  little 
chilled.  Courage,  nevertheless ;  there  are  many  brave  men 
in  England  !  My  indomitable  Plugson, — nay  is  there  not  even 
in  thee  some  hope  ?  Thou  art  hitherto  a  Bucanier,  as  it  was 
written  and  prescribed  for  thee  by  an  evil  world  :  but  in  that 
grim  brow,  in  that  indomitable  heart  which  can  conquer  Cotton, 
do  there  not  perhaps  lie  other  ten-times  nobler  conquests  ? 



CHAPTEK  XL 

LABOUR. 

For  there  is  a  perennial  nobleness,  and  even  sacredness,  in 
Work.  Were  he  never  so  benighted,  forgetful  of  his  high 
calling,  there  is  always  hope  in  a  man  that  actually  and  ear- 
nestly works  :  in  Idleness  alone  is  there  perpetual  despair. 
Work,  never  so  Mammonish,  mean,  is  in  communication  with 
Nature  ;  the  real  desire  to  get  Work  done  will  itself  lead  one 
more  and  more  to  truth,  to  Nature's  appointments  and  regu- 
lations, which  are  truth. 

The  latest  Gospel  in  this  world  is,  Know  thy  work  and  do 
it.  £  Know  thyself  : '  long  enough  has  that  poor  '  self '  of  thine 
tormented  thee  ;  thou  wilt  never  get  to  c  know  '  it,  I  believe  ! 
Think  it  not  thy  business,  this  of  knowing  thyself  ;  thou  art 
an  unknowable  individual :  know  what  thou  canst  work  at ; 
and  work  at  it,  like  a  Hercules !  That  will  be  thy  better 
plan. 

It  has  been  written,  '  an  endless  significance  lies  in  Work  ; ' 


190 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


a  man  perfects  himself  by  working.  Foul  jungles  are  cleared 
away,  fair  seedfields  rise  instead,  and  stately  cities  ;  and 
withal  the  man  himself  first  ceases  to  be  jungle  and  foul  un- 
wholesome desert  thereby.  Consider  how,  even  in  the  mean- 
est sorts  of  Labour,  the  whole  soul  of  a  man  is  composed  into 
a  kind  of  real  harmony,  the  instant  he  sets  himself  to  work  ! 
Doubt,  Desire,  Sorrow,  Remorse,  Indignation,  Despair  itself, 
all  these  like  hell-dogs  lie  beleaguering  the  soul  of  the  poor 
dayworker,  as  of  every  man  :  but  he  bends  himself  with  free 
valour  against  his  task,  and  all  these  are  stilled,  all  these 
shrink  murmuring  far  off  into  their  caves.  The  man  is  now  a 
man.  The  blessed  glow  of  Labour  in  him,  is  it  not  as  purify- 
ing fire,  wherein  all  poison  is  burnt  uj),  and  of  sour  smoke 
itself  there  is  made  bright  blessed  flame  ! 

Destiny,  on  the  whole,  has  no  other  way  of  cultivating 
us.  A  formless  Chaos  once  set  it  revolving,  grows  round  and 
even  rounder  ;  ranges  itself,  by  mere  force  of  gravity,  into 
strata,  spherical  courses  ;  is  no  longer  a  Chaos,  but  a  round 
compacted  World.  What  would  become  of  the  Earth,  did 
she  cease  to  revolve  ?  In  the  poor  old  Earth,  so  long  as  she 
revolves,  all  inequalities,  irregularities  disperse  themselves  ; 
all  irregularities  are  incessantly  becoming  regular.  Hast 
thou  looked  on  the  Potter's  wheel, — one  of  the  venerablest 
objects;  old  as  the  Prophet  Ezechiel  and  far  older?  Eude 
lumps  of  clay,  how  they  spin  themselves  up,  by  mere  quick 
whirling,  into  beautiful  circular  dishes.  And  fancy  the  most 
assiduous  Potter,  but  without  his  wheel  ;  reduced  to  make 
dishes,  or  rather  amorphous  botches,  by  mere  kneading  and 
baking  !  Even  such  a  Potter  were  Destiny,  with  a  human 
soul  that  would  rest  and  lie  at  ease,  that  would  not  work  and 
spin  !  Of  an  idle  unrevolving  man  the  kindest'  Destiuy,  like 
the  most  assiduous  Potter  without  wheel,  can  bake  and  knead 
nothing  other  than  a  botch  ;  let  her  spend  on  him  what  ex- 
pensive colouring,  what  gilding  and  enamelling  she  will,  he 
is  but  a  botch.  Not  a  dish  ;  no,  a  bulging,  kneaded,  crooked, 
shambling,  squint-cornered,  amorphous  botch, — a  mere  en- 
amelled vessel  of  dishonour  !    Let  the  idle  think  of  this. 

Blessed  is  he  who  has  found  his  work ;  let  him  ask  no  other 


LABOUR. 


191 


blessedness.  He  has  a  work,  a  life-purpose  ;  he  has  found 
it,  and  will  follow  it !  How,  as  a  free-flowing  channel,  dug 
and  torn  by  noble  force  through  the  sour  mud-swamp  of  one's 
existence,  like  an  ever-deepening  river  there,  it  runs  and  flows  ; 
— draining  off  the  sour  festering  water,  gradually  from  the 
root  of  the  remotest  grass-blade  ;  making,  instead  of  pesti- 
lential swamp,  a  green  fruitful  meadow  with  its  clear-flowing 
stream.  How  blessed  for  the  meadow  itself,  let  the  stream 
and  its  value  be  great  or  small !  Labour  is  Life  :  from  the 
inmost  heart  of  the  Worker  rises  his  god-given  Force,  the 
sacred  celestial  Life-essence  breathed  into  him  by  Almighty 
God  ;  from  his  inmost  heart  awakens  him  to  all  nobleness, — 
to  all  knowledge,  f  self-knowledge '  and  much  else,  so  soon  as 
Work  fitly  begins.  Knowledge?  The  knowledge  that  will 
hold  good  in  working,  cleave  thou  to  that ;  for  Nature  herself 
accredits  that,  says  Yea  to  that.  Properly  thou  hast  no  other 
knowledge  but  what  thou  hast  got  by  working :  the  rest  is 
yet  all  a  hypothesis  of  knowledge  ;  a  thing  to  be  argued  of  in 
schools,  a  thing  floating  in  the  clouds,  in  endless  logic-vor- 
tices, till  we  try  it  and  fix  it.  c  Doubt,  of  whatever  kind,  can 
be  ended  by  Action  alone.' 

And  again,  hast  thou  valued  Patience,  Courage,  Persever. 
ance,  Openness  to  light ;  readiness  to  own  thyself  mistaken, 
to  do  better  next  time  ?  All  these,  all  virtues,  in  wrestling 
with  the  dim  brute  Powers  of  Fact,  in  ordering  of  thy  fellows 
in  such  wrestle,  there  and  elsewhere  not  at  all,  thou  wilt  con- 
tinually learn.  Set  down  a  brave  Sir  Christopher  in  the  mid- 
dle of  black  ruined  Stoneheaps,  of  foolish  unarchitectural 
Bishops,  redtape  Officials,  idle  Nell-Gwyn  Defenders  of  the 
Faith  ;  and  see  whether  he  will  ever  raise  a  Paul's  Cathedral 
out  of  all  that,  yea  or  no  !  Eough,  rude,  contradictory  are  all 
things  and  persons,  from  the  mutinous  masons  and  Irish 
hodmen,  up  to  the  idle  Nell-Gwyn  Defenders,  to  blustering 
redtape  Officials,  foolish  unarchitectural  Bishops.  All  these 
things  and  persons  are  there  not  for  Christopher's  sake  and 
his  Cathedral's  ;  they  are  there  for  their  own  sake  mainly  ! 
Christopher  will  have  to  conquer  and  constrain  all  these, — if 


192 


THE  MODERN  WORKER, 


he  be  able.  All  these  are  against  him.  Equitable  Nature 
herself,  who  carries  her  mathematics  and  architectonics  not 
on  the  face  of  her,  but  deep  in  the  hidden  heart  of  her, — 
Nature  herself  is  but  partially  for  him  ;  will  be  wholly  against 
him,  if  he  constrain  her  not !  His  very  money,  where  is  it  to 
come  from  ?  The  pious  munificence  of  England  lies  far-scat- 
tered, distant,  unable  to  speak,  and  say,  "I  am  here  ;  " — must 
be  spoken  to  before  it  can  speak.  Pious  munificence,  and  all 
help,  is  so  silent,  invisible  like  the  gods  ;  impediment,  con- 
tradictions manifold  are  so  loud  and  near  !  O  brave  Sir 
Christopher,  trust  thou  in  those,  notwithstanding,  and  front 
all  these  ;  understand  all  these  ;  by  valiant  patience,  noble 
effort,  insight,  by  man's-strength,  vanquish  and  compel  all 
these, — and,  on  the  whole,  strike  down  victoriously  the  last 
topstone  of  that  Paul's  Edifice  ;  thy  monument  for  certain 
centuries,  the  stamp  '  Great  Man '  impressed  very  legibly  on 
Portland-stone  there  ! — 

Yes,  all  manner  of  help,  and  pious  response  from  Men  of 
Nature,  is  always  what  we  call  silent ;  cannot  speak  or  come 
to  light,  till  it  be  seen,  till  it  be  spoken  to.  Every  noble 
work  is  at  first  £  impossible.'  In  very  truth,  for  every  noble 
work  the  possibilities  will  lie  diffused  through  Immensity  ;  in- 
articulate, undiscoverable  except  to  faith.  Like  Gideon  thou 
shalt  spread  out  thy  fleece  at  the  door  of  thy  tent ;  see  whether 
under  the  wide  arch  of  Heaven  there  be  any  bounteous  moist- 
ure, or  none.  Thy  heart  and  life-purpose  shall  be  as  a  miracu- 
lous Gideon's  fleece,  spread  out  in  silent  appeal  to  Heaven  ; 
and  from  the  kind  Immensities,  what  from  the  poor  unkind 
Localities  and  town  and  country  Parishes  there  never  could, 
blessed  dew-moisture  to  suffice  thee  shall  have  fallen  ! 

"Work  is  of  a  religious  nature  : — work  is  of  a  brave  nature  ; 
which  it  is  the  aim  of  all  religion  to  be.  All  work  of  man  is 
as  the  swimmer's  ;  a  waste  ocean  threatens  to  devour  him  ;  if 
he  front  it  not  bravely,  it  will  keep  its  word.  By  incessant 
wise  defiance  of  it,  lusty  rebuke  and  buffet  of  it,  behold  how 
it  loyally  supports  him,  bears  him  as  its  conqueror  along. 
'  It  is  so,'  says  Goethe,  '  with  all  things  that  man  undertakes 
in  this  world.' 


LABOUR 


193 


Brave  Sea-captain,  Norse  Sea-king, — Columbus,  my  hero, 
royalest  Sea-king  of  all !  it  is  no  friendly  environment  this  of 
thine,  in  the  waste  deep  waters  ;  around  thee  mutinous  dis- 
couraged souls,  behind  thee  disgrace  and  ruin,  before  thee  the 
unpenetrated  veil  of  Night.  Brother,  these  wild  water-moun- 
tains, bounding  from  their  deep  basin  (ten  miles  deep,  I  am 
told),  are  not  entirely  there  on  thy  behalf !  Meseems  they 
have  other  work  than  floating  thee  forward  : — and  the  huge 
Winds,  that  sweep  from  Ursa  Major  to  the  Tropics  and  Equa- 
tors, dancing  their  giant-waltz  through  the  kingdoms  of  Chaos 
and  Immensity,  they  care  little  about  filling  rightly  or  filling 
wrongly  the  small  shoulder-of-mutton  sails  in  this  cockle-skiff 
of  thine !  Thou  are  not  among  articulate-speaking  friends, 
my  brother ;  thou  art  among  immeasurable  dumb  monsters, 
tumbling,  howling  wide  as  the  world  here.  Secret,  far  off,  in- 
visible to  all  hearts  but  thine,  there  lies  a  help  in  them  :  see 
how  thou  wilt  get  at  that.  Patiently  thou  wilt  wait  till  the 
mad  South-wester  spend  itself,  saving  thyself  by  dexterous 
science  of  defence,  the  while  :  valiantly,  with  swift  decision, 
wilt  thou  strike  in,  when  the  favouring  East,  the  Possible, 
springs  up.  Mutiny  of  men  thou  wilt  sternly  repress  ;  weak- 
ness, despondency,  thou  wilt  cheerily  encourage :  thou  wilt 
swallow  down  complaint,  unreason,  weariness,  weakness  of 
others  and  thyself ; — how  much  wilt  thou  swallow  down  ! 
There  shall  be  a  depth  of  Silence  in  thee,  deeper  than  this 
Sea,  which  is  but  ten  miles  deep  :  a  Silence  unsoundable  ; 
known  to  God  only.  Thou  shalt  be  a  great  Man.  Yes,  my 
"World- Soldier,  thou  of  the  World  Marine-service, — thou  wilt 
have  to  be  greater  than  this  tumultuous  unmeasured  World 
here  round  thee  is  ;  thou,  in  thy  strong  soul,  as  with  wrestler's 
arms,  shalt  embrace  it,  harness  it  down  ;  and  make  it  bear 
thee  on, — to  new  Americas,  or  whither  God  wills  ! 
13 


194 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


CHAPTEE  XII 

REWARD. 

'  Eeligion,'  I  said  ;  for,  properly  speaking,  all  true  Work  is 
Eeligion  :  and  whatsoever  Eeligion  is  not  Work  may  go  and 
dwell  among  the  Brahmins,  Antinomians,  Spinning  Dervishes, 
or  where  it  will ;  with  me  it  shall  have  no  harbour.  Admira- 
ble was  that  of  the  old  Monks,  '  Laborare  est  Orare,  Work  is 
Worship.' 

Older  than  all  preached  Gospels  was  this  unpreached,  in- 
articulate but  ineradicable,  forever-enduring  Gospel :  Work, 
and  therein  have  well  being.  Man,  son  of  Earth  and  of 
Heaven,  lies  there  not,  in  the  innermost  heart  of  thee,  a  Spirit 
of  active  Method,  a  Force  for  work  ; — and  burns  like  a  pain- 
fully smouldering  fire,  giving  thee  no  rest  till  thou  unfold  it, 
till  thou  write  it  down  in  beneficent  Facts  around  thee  !  What 
is  immethodic,  waste,  thou  shalt  make  methodic,  regulated, 
arable  ;  obedient  and  productive  to  thee.  Wheresoever  thou 
findest  Disorder,  there  is  thy  eternal  enemy;  attack  him 
swiftly,  subdue  him  ;  make  Order  of  him,  the  subject  not  of 
Chaos,  but  of  Intelligence,  Divinity  and  Thee!  The  thistle 
that  grows  in  thy  path,  dig  it  out,  that  a  blade  of  useful  grass, 
a  drop  of  nourishing  milk,  may  grow  there  instead.  The 
waste  cotton-shrub,  gather  its  waste  white  down,  spin  it, 
weave  it ;  that,  in  place  of  idle  litter,  there  may  be  folded 
webs,  and  the  naked  skin  of  man  be  covered. 

But  -  above  all,  where  thou  findest  Ignorance,  Stupidity, 
Brute-mindedness, — yes,  there,  with  or  without  Church  tithes 
and  Shovel-hat,  with  or  without  Talfourd-Mahon  Copyrights, 
or  were  it  with  mere  dungeons  and  gibbets  and  crosses,  attack 
it,  I  say ;  smite  it  wisely,  unweariedly,  and  rest  not  while 
thou  livest  and  it  lives  ;  but  smite,  smite,  in  the  name  of  God  ! 
The  Highest  God,  as  I  understand  it,  does  audibly  so  com- 
mand thee  ;  still  audibly,  if  thou  have  ears  to  hear.  He,  even 
He,  with  his  tmspoken  voice,  awfuler  than  any  Sinai  thunders 
or  syllabled  speech  of  Whirlwinds ;  for  the  Silence  of  deep 


REWARD. 


195 


Eternities,  of  Worlds  from  beyond  the  morning-stars,  does  it 
not  speak  to  thee  ?  The  unborn  Ages  ;  the  old  Graves,  with 
their  long-mouldering  dust,  the  very  tears  that  wetted  it  now 
all  dry,  — do  not  these  speak  to  thee,  what  ear  hath  not  heard  ? 
The  deep  Death-kingdoms,  the  Stars  in  their  never-resting 
courses,  all  Space  and  all  Time,  proclaim  it  to  thee  in  con- 
tinual silent  admonition.  Thou  too,  if  ever  man  should,  shalt 
work  while  it  is  called  To-day.  For  the  Night  cometh,  wherein 
no  man  can  work. 

All  true  Work  is  sacred  ;  in  all  true  Work,  were  it  but  true 
hand-labour,  there  is  something  of  divineness.  Labour,  wide 
as  the  Earth,  has  its  summit  in  Heaven.  Sweat  of  the  brow  ; 
and  up  from  that  to  sweat  of  the  brain,  sweat  of  the  heart ; 
which  includes  all  Kepler  calculations,  Newton  meditations, 
all  Sciences,  all  spoken  Epics,  all  acted  Heroisms,  Martyr- 
doms,— up  to  that  c  Agony  of  bloody  sweat,'  which  all  men 
have  called  divine  !  O  brother,  if  this  is  not  'worship/  then 
I  say,  the  more  pity  for  worship  ;  for  this  is  the  noblest  thing 
yet  discovered  under  God's  sky.  Who  art  thou  that  corn- 
plainest  of  thy  life  of  toil?  Complain  not.  Look  up,  my 
wearied  brother:  see  thy  fellow  Workmen  there,  in  God's 
Eternity  ;  surviving  there,  they  alone  surviving  :  sacred  Band 
of  the  Immortals,  celestial  Bodyguard  of  the  Empire  of  Man- 
kind. Even  in  the  weak  Human  Memory  they  survive  so  long, 
as  saints,  as  heroes,  as  gods  ;  they  alone  surviving  ;  peopling, 
they  alone,  the  unmeasured  solitudes  of  Time!  To  Thee 
Heaven,  though  severe,  is  not  unkind  ;  Heaven  is  kind, — as  a 
noble  Mother  ;  as  that  Spartan  Mother,  saying  while  she  gave 
her  son  his  shield,  "  With  it,  my  son,  or  upon  it !  "  Thou 
too,  shalt  return  home  in  honour ;  to  thy  far-distant  Home, 
in  honour ;  doubt  it  not, — if  in  the  battle  thou  keep  thy 
shield  !  Thou,  in  the  Eternities  and  deepest  Death-kingdoms, 
art  not  an  alien  ;  thou  everywhere  art  a  denizen  !  Complain 
not ;  the  very  Spartans  did  not  complain. 

And  who  art  thou  that  braggest  of  thy  life  of  Idleness  ; 
complacently  shewest  thy  bright  gilt  equipages  ;  sumptuous 
cushions ;  appliances  for  folding  of  the  hands  to  mere  sleep  ? 
Looking  up,  looking  down,  around,  behind  or  before,  dis- 


196 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


cernest  thou,  if  it  be  not  in  Mayfair  alone,  any  idle  hero, 
saint,  god,  or  even  devil?  Not  a  vestige  of  one.  In  the 
Heavens,  in  the  Earth,  in  the  Waters  under  the  Earth,  is  none 
like  unto  thee.  Thou  art  an  original  figure  in  this  Creation  ; 
a  denizen  in  Mayfair  alone,  in  this  extraordinary  Century  or 
Half-Century  alone  !  One  monster  there  is  in  the  world  :  the 
idle  man.  What  is  his  '  Religion  ?  ?  That  Nature  is  a  Phan- 
tasm, where  cunning  beggary  or  thievery  may  sometimes  find 
good  victual.  That  God  is  a  lie  ;  and  that  Man  and  his  Life 
are  a  lie. — Alas,  alas,  who  of  us  is  there  that  can  say,  I  have 
worked  ?  The  faithfulest  of  us  are  unprofitable  servants  ;  the 
faithfulest  of  us  know  that  best.  The  faithfulest  of  us  may 
say,  with  sad  and  true  old  Samuel,  "  Much  of  my  life  has 
been  trifled  away  ! "  But  he  that  has,  and  except  '  on  public 
occasions '  professes  to  have,  no  function  but  that  of  going 
idle  in  a  graceful  or  graceless  manner  ;  and  of  begetting  sons 
to  go  idle ;  and  to  address  Chief  Spinners  and  Diggers,  who 
at  least  are  spinning  and  digging,  "Ye  scandalous  persons 
who  produce  too  much  " — My  Corn-Law  Friends,  on  what  im- 
aginary still  richer  Eldorados,  and  true  iron-spikes  with  law 
of  gravitation,  are  ye  rushing  ! 

As  to  the  Wages  of  Work  there  might  innumerable  things 
be  said  ;  there  will  and  must  yet  innumerable  things  be  said 
and  spoken,  in  St.  Stephen's  and  out  of  St.  Stephen's  ;  and 
gradually  not  a  few  things  be  ascertained  and  written,  on 
Law-parchment,  concerning  this  very  matter: — 'Fair  day's- 
wages  for  a  fair  day's-work  '  is  the  most  unrefusable  demand  ! 
Money-wages  '  to  the  extent  of  keeping  your  worker  alive 
that  he  may  work  more  ; '  these,  unless  you  mean  to  dismiss 
him  straightway  out  of  this  world,  are  indispensable  alike  to 
the  noblest  Worker  and  to  the  least  noble ! 

One  thing  only  I  will  say  here,  in  special  reference  to  the 
former  class,  the  noble  and  noblest ;  but  throwing  light  on 
all  the  other  classes  and  their  arrangements  of  this  diffi- 
cult matter :  The  '  wages '  of  every  noble  Work  do  yet  lie  in 
Heaven  or  else  Nowhere.  Not  in  Bank- of -England  bills,  in 
Owen's  Labour-bank,  or  any  the  most  improved  establishment 


REWARD. 


107 


of  banking  and  money-changing,  needest  thou,  heroic  soul, 
present  thy  account  of  earnings.  Human  banks  and  labour- 
banks  know  thee  not  ;  or  know  thee  after  generations  and 
centuries  have  passed  away,  and  thou  art  clean  gone  from 
i  rewarding,' — all  manner  of  bank-drafts,  shop-tills,  and  Down- 
ing-str^et  Exchequers  lying  very  invisible,  so  far  from  thee  ! 
Nay,  at  bottom,  dost  thou  need  any  reward  ?  "Was  it  thy 
aim  and  life-purpose  to  be  filled  with  good  things  for  thy  he- 
roism ;  to  have  a  life  of  pomp  and  ease,  and  be  what  men  call 
'happy/  ki  this  world,  or  in  any  other  world  ?  I  answer  for 
thee  deliberately,  No.  The  whole  spiritual  secret  of  the  new 
epoch  lies  in  this,  that  thou  canst  answer  for  thyself,  with  thy 
whole  clearness  of  head  and  heart,  deliberately,  No  ! 

My  brother,  the  brave  man  has  to  give  his  Life  away.  Give 
it,  I  advise  the  a ; — thou  dost  not  expect  to  sell  thy  Life  in  an 
adequate  manner  ?  What  price,  for  example,  would  content 
thee  ?  The  just  price  of  thy  Life  to  thee, — why,  God's  entire 
Creation  to  thyself,  the  whole  Universe  of  Space,  the  whole 
Eternity  of  Time,  and  what  they  hold  :  that  is  the  price  which 
would  content  thee  ;  that,  and  if  thou  wilt  be  candid,  nothing 
short  of  that !  It  is  thy  all ;  and  for  it  thou  wouldst  have  ail. 
Thou  art  an  unreasonable  mortal ; — or  rather  thou  art  a  poor 
infinite  mortal,  who,  in  thy  narrow  clay-prison  here,  seemest  so 
unreasonable  !  Thou  wilt  never  sell  thy  Life,  or  any  part  of 
thy  Life,  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  Give  it,  like  a  royal  heart ; 
let  the  price  be  Nothing :  thou  hast  then,  in  a  certain  sense, 
got  All  for  it !  The  heroic  man, — and  is  not  every  man,  God 
be  thanked,  a  potential  hero  ? — has  to  do  so,  in  all  times  and 
circumstances.  In  the  most  heroic  age,  as  in  the  most  unhe- 
roic,  he  will  have  to  say,  as  Burns  said  proudly  and  humbly 
of  his  little  Scottish  Songs,  little  dewdrops  of  Celestial  Melo- 
dy in  an  age  when  so  much  was  unmelodious  :  "By  Heaven, 
they  shall  either  be  invaluable  or  of  no  value  ;  I  do  not  need 
your  guineas  for  them  !  "  It  is  an  element  which  should,  and 
must,  enter  deeply  into  all  settlements  of  wages  here  below. 
They  never  will  be  £  satisfactory '  otherwise ;  they  cannot,  O 
Mammon  Gospel,  they  never  can  !  Money  for  my  little  piece 
of  work  £  to  the  extent  that  will  allow  me  to  keep  working  ;J 


19S 


TIIE  MODERN  WORKER. 


yes,  this, — unless  }Tou  mean  that  I  shall  go  my  ways  before  the 
work  is  all  taken  out  of  me  :  but  as  to  '  wa^es ' —  !  — 

On  the  whole,  we  clo  entirely  agree  with  those  old  Monks, 
Laborare  est  Orare.  In  a  thousand  senses,  from  one  end  of  it 
to  the  other,  true  Work  is  Worship.  He  that  works,  whatso- 
ever be  his  work,  he  bodies  forth  the  form  of  Things  Unseen  ; 
a  small  Poet  every  Worker  is.  The  idea,  were  it  but  of  his 
poor  Delf  Platter,  how  much  more  of  his  Epic  Poem,  is  as  yet 
'  seen/  half-seen,  only  by  himself  ;  to  all  others  it  is  a  thing- 
unseen,  impossible  ;  to  Nature  herself  it  is  a  thing  unseen,  a 
thing  which  never  hitherto  was  ; — very  £  impossible/  for  it  is  as 
yet  a  No-thing  !  The  Unseen  Powers  had  need  to  watch  over 
such  a  man  ;  he  works  in  and  for  the  Unseen.  Alas,  if  he  look 
to  the  Seen  Powers  only,  he  may  as  well  quit  the  business  ; 
his  No-thing  will  never  rightly  issue  as  a  Thing,  but  as  a  De- 
ceptivity,  a  Sham-thing, — which  it  had  better  not  do  ! 

Thy  No-thing  of  an  Intended  Poem,  O  Poet  who  hast  looked 
merely  to  reviewers,  copyrights,  booksellers,  popularities,  be- 
hold it  has  not  yet  become  a  Thing  ;  for  the  truth  is  not  in 
it !  Though  printed,  hotpressed,  reviewed,  celebrated,  sold  to 
the  twentieth  edition  :  what  is  all  that  ?  The  Thing,  in  phil- 
osophical uncommercial  language,  is  still  a  No-thing,  mostly 
semblance,  and  deception  of  the  sight ; — benign  Oblivion  in- 
cessantly gnawing  at  it,  impatient  till  Chaos  to  which  it  belongs 
do  reabsorb  it ! — 

He  who  takes  not  counsel  of  the  Unseen  and  Silent,  from 
him  will  never  come  real  visibility  and  speech.  Thou  must 
descend  to  the  Mothers,  to  the  Manes,  and  Hercules-like  long 
suffer  and  labour  there,  wouldst  thou  emerge  with  victory  into 
the  sunlight.  As  in  battle  and  the  shock  of  war, — for  is  not 
this  a  battle  ? — thou  too  shalt  fear  no  pain  or  death,  shalt  love 
no  ease  or  life  ;  the  voice  of  festive  Lubberlands,  the  noise  of 
greedy  Acheron  shall  alike  lie  silent  under  thy  victorious  feet. 
Thy  work,  like  Dante's,  shall  '  make  thee  lean  for  many  years.' 
The  world  and  its  wages,  its  criticisms,  counsels,  helps,^im- 
pediments,  shall  be  as  a  waste  ocean-flood  ;  the  chaos  through 
which  thou  art  to  swim  and  sail.  Not  the  waste  waves  and 
their  weedy  gulf-streams,  shalt  thou  take  for  guidance :  thy 


BE  WARD. 


199 


star  alone, — e  Se  tu  segui  tua  stella!9  Thy  star  alone,  now 
clear-beaming  over  Chaos,  nay  now  by  fits  gone  out,  disas- 
trously eclipsed  :  this  only  shalt  thou  strive  to  follow.  O,  it 
is  a  business,  as  I  fancy,  that  of  weltering  your  way  through 
Chaos  and  the  murk  of  Hell  I  Green-eyed  dragons  watching 
you,  three-headed  Cerberuses, — not  without  sympathy  of  their 
sort !  " Eccovi  V  uom  ch'  e  stato  alV  Inferno"  For  in  fine,  as 
Poet  Dryden  says,  you  do  walk  hand  in  hand  with  sheer  Mad- 
ness, all  the  way, — who  is  by  no  means  pleasant  company ! 
You  look  fixedly  into  Madness,  and  her  undiscovered,  bound- 
less, bottomless  Night-empire  ;  that  you  may  extort  new  Wis- 
dom out  of  it,  as  an  Eurydice  from  Tartarus.  The  higher  the 
Wisdom,  the  closer  was  its  neighbourhood  and  kindred  with 
mere  Insanity  ;  literally  so  : — and  thou  wilt,  with  a  speechless 
feeling,  observe  how  highest  Wisdom,  struggling  up  into  this 
world,  has  oftentimes  carried  such  tinctures  and  adhesions  of 
Insanity  still  cleaving  to  it  hither  ! 

All  Works,  each  in  their  degree,  are  a  making  of  Madness 
sane ; — truly  enough  a  religious  operation ;  which  cannot  be 
carried  on  without  religion.  You  have  not  work  otherwise  ; 
you  have  eye-service,  greedy  grasping  of  wages,  swi^t  and  ever 
swifter  manufacture  of  semblances  to  get  hold  of  wages.  In- 
stead of  better  felt-hats  to  cover  your  head,  you  have  bigger  lath- 
and-plaster  hats  set  travelling  the  streets  on  wheels.  Instead  of 
heavenly  and  earthly  Guidance  for  the  souls  of  men,  you  have 
'Black  or  White  Surplice'  Controversies,  stuffed  hair-and- 
leather  Popes  ; — terrestrial  Law-wards,  Lords  and  Law-bring- 
ers,  '  organizing  Labour '  in  these  years,  by  passing  Corn-Laws. 
With  all  which,  alas,  this  distracted  Earth  is  now  full,  nigh  to 
bursting.  Semblances  most  smooth  to  the  touch  and  eye ; 
most  accursed  nevertheless  to  body  and  soul.  Semblances,  be 
they  of  Sham-woven  Cloth  or  of  Dilettante  Legislation,  which 
are  not  real  wool  or  substance,  but  Devil's-dust,  accursed  of 
God  and  man  !  No  man  has  worked,  or  can  work,  except  re- 
ligiously ;  not  even  the  poor  day-labourer,  the  weaver  of  your 
coat,  the  sewer  of  your  shoes.  All  men,  if  they  work  not  as  in 
a  Great  Taskmaster's  eye,  will  work  wrong,  work  unhappily 
for  themselves  and  you. 


200 


TEE  MODERN  WORKER. 


Industrial  work,  still  under  bondage  to  Mammon,  the  rational 
soul  of  it  not  yet  awakened,  is  a  tragic  spectacle.  Men  in 
the  rapidest  motion  and  self-motion  ;  restless,  with  convulsive 
energy,  as  if  driven  by  Galvanism,  as  if  possessed  by  a  Devil ; 
tearing  asunder  mountains, — to  no  purpose,  for  Mammonism 
is  always  Midas-eared !  This  is  sad,  on  the  face  of  it.  Yet 
courage  :  the  beneficent  Destinies,  kind  in  their  sternness,  are 
apprising  us  that  this  cannot  continue.  Labour  is  not  a  devil, 
even  while  encased  in  Mammonism  ;  Labour  is  ever  an  impris- 
oned god,  writhing  unconsciously  or  consciously  to  escape  out 
of  Mammonism  !  Plugson  of  Undershot,  like  Taillefer  of  Nor- 
mandy, wants  victory  ;  how  much  happier  will  even  Plugson 
be  to  have  a  Chivalrous  victory  than  a  Chactaw  one.  The  un- 
redeemed ugliness  is  that  of  a  slothful  People.  Shew  me  a 
People  energetically  busy  ;  heaving,  struggling,  all  shoulders 
at  the  wheel  ;  their  heart  pulsing,  every  muscle  swelling,  with 
man's  energy  and  will  ; — I  shew  you  a  People  of  whom  great 
good  is  already  predicable  ;  to  whom  all  manner  of  good  is 
yet  certain,  if  their  energy  endure.  By  very  working,  they 
will  learn  ;  they  have,  Antseus-like,  their  foot  on  Mother  Fact : 
how  can  they  but  learn  ? 

The  vu]garest  Plugson  of  a  Master-Worker,  who  can  com- 
mand Workers,  and  get  work  out  of  them,  is  already  a  consid- 
erable man.  Blessed  and  thrice-blessed  symptoms  I  discern 
of  Master- Workers  who  are  not  vulgar  men  ;  who  are  Nobles, 
and  begin  to  feel  that  they  must  act  as  such :  all  speed  to 
these,  they  are  England's  hope  at  present !  But  in  this  Plug- 
son  himself,  conscious  of  almost  no  nobleness  whatever,  how 
much  is  there  !  Not  without  man's  faculty,  insight,  courage, 
hard  energy,  is  this  rugged  figure.  His  words  none  of  the 
wisest  ;  but  his  actings  cannot  be  altogether  foolish.  Think, 
how  were  it,  stoodest  thou  suddenly  in  his  shoes  !  He  has  to 
command  a  thousand  men.  And  not  imaginary  command- 
ing ;  no;  it  is  real,  incessantly  practical.  The  evil  passions  of 
so  many  men  (with  the  Devil  in  them,  as  in  all  of  us)  he  has 
to  vanquish  ;  by  manifold  force  of  speech  and  of  silence,  to 
repress  or  evade.  What  a  force  of  silence,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  others,  is  in  Plugson !    For  these  his  thousand  men  he 


REWARD. 


201 


has  to  provide  raw-material,  machinery,  arrangement,  house- 
room  ;  and  ever  at  the  week's  end,  wages  by  due  sale.  No 
Civil-List,  or  Goulburn-Baring  Budget  has  he  to  fall  back 
upon,  for  paying  of  his  regiment  ;  he  has  to  pick  his  supplies 
from  the  confused  face  of  the  whole  Earth  and  Contenrpora- 
neoiis  History,  by  his  dexterity  alone.  There  will  be  dry 
eyes  if  he  fail  to  do  it  I- — He  exclaims,  at  present,  '  black  in 
the  face,'  near  strangled  with  Dilettante  Legislation:  "Let 
me  have  elbow-room,  throat-room,  and  I  will  not  fail !  No, 
I  will  spin  yet,  and  conquer  like  a  giant  ;  what  c  sinews  of 
war '  lie  in  me,  untold  resources  towards  the  Conquest  of  this 
Planet,  if  instead  of  hanging  me,  you  husband  them,  and  help 
me  !  " — My  indomitable  friend,  it  is  true  ;  and  thou  shalt  and 
must  be  helped. 

This  is  not  a  man  I  would  kill  and  strangle  by  Corn-Laws, 
even  if  I  could  !  No,  I  would  fling  my  Corn-Laws  and  Shot- 
belts  to  the  Devil ;  and  try  to  help  this  man.  I  would  teach 
him,  by  noble  precept  and  law-precept,  by  noble  example 
most  of  all,  that  Mammonism  was  not  the  essence  of  his  or  of 
my  station  in  God's  Universe  ;  but  the  adscititious  excrescence 
of  it ;  the  gross,  terrene,  godless  embodiment  of  it ;  which 
would  have  to  become,  more  or  less,  a  godlike  one.  By  noble 
real  legislation,  by  true  nofr/e's-work,  by  unwearied,  valiant, 
and  were  it  wageless  effort,  in  my  Parliament  and  in  my  Par- 
ish, I  would  aid,  constrain,  encourage  him  to  effect  more  or 
less  this  blessed  change.  I  should  know  that  it  would  have 
to  be  effected  ;  that  unless  it  were  in  some  measure  effected, 
he  and  I  and  all  of  us,  I  first  and  soonest  of  all,  were  doomed 
to  perdition  ! — Effected  it  will  be  ;  unless  it  were  a  Demon 
that  made  this  Universe  ;  which  I,  for  my  own  part,  do  at  no 
moment,  under  no  form,  in  the  least  believe. 

May  it  please  your  Serene  Highnesses,  your  Majesties, 
Lordships  and  Law-wardships,  the  proper  Epic  of  this  world 
is  not  now  '  Arms  and  the  Man  ; '  how  much  less,  '  Shirt-frills 
and  the  Man  : '  no,  it  is  now  6  Tools  and  the  Man  : '  that, 
henceforth  to  all  time  is  now  our  Epic  ;  and  you,  first  of  all 
others,  I  think,  were  wise  to  take  note  of  that ! 


202 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

DEMOCRACY. 

If  the  Serene  Highnesses  and  Majesties  do  not  take  note  of 
that,  then,  as  I  perceive,  that  will  take  note  of  itself!  The 
time  for  levity,  insincerity,  and  idle  babble  and  play-acting, 
in  all  kinds,  is  gone  by  ;  it  is  a  serious,  grave  time.  Old  long- 
vexed  questions,  not  yet  solved  in  logical  words  or  parliamen- 
tary laws,  are  fast  solving  themselves  in  facts,  somewhat  un- 
blessed to  behold  !  This  largest  of  questions,  this  question 
of  Work  and  Wages,  which  ought,  had  we  heeded  Heaven's 
voice  to  have  begun  two  generations  ago  or  more,  cannot  be 
delayed  longer  without  hearing  Earth's  voice.  '  Labour*'  will 
verily  need  to  be  somewhat  '  organised,'  as  they  say, — God 
knows  with  what  difficulty.  Man  will  actually  need  to  have 
his  debts  and  earnings  a  little  better  paid  by  man  ;  which,  let 
Parliaments  speak  of  them  or  be  silent  of  them,  are  eternally 
his  due  from  man,  and  cannot,  without  penalty  and  at  length 
not  without  death-penalty,  be  withheld.  How  much  ought  to 
cease  among  us  straightway ;  how  much  ought  to  begin 
straightway,  while  the  hours  yet  are  ! 

Truly  they  are  strange  results  to  which  this  of  leaving  all 
to  '  Cash ; '  of  quietly  shutting  up  the  God's  Temple,  and 
gradually  opening  wide-open  the  Mammon's  Temple,  with 
£ Laissez-faire,  and  Everyman  for  himself,' — have  led  us  in 
these  days  !  We  have  Upper,  speaking  Classes,  who  indeed 
do  '  speak '  as  never  man  spake  before  ;  the  withered  flimsi- 
ness,  the  godless  baseness  and  barrenness  of  whose  Speech 
might  of  itself  indicate  what  kind  of  Doing  and  practical 
Governing  went  on  under  it  !  For  Speech  is  the  gaseous 
element  out  of  which  most  kinds  of  Practice  and  Performance, 
especially  all  kinds  of  moral  Performance,  condense  them-- 
selves,  and  take  shape  ;  as  the  one  is,  so  will  the  other  be. 
Descending,  accordingly,  into  the  Dumb  Class  in  its  Stock- 
port Cellars  and  Poor-Law  Bastilles,  have  we  not  to  announce 
that  they  also  are  hitherto  unexampled  in  the  History  of 
Adam's  Posterity  ? 


DEMOCRACY, 


203 


Life  was  never  a  May-game  for  men  :  in  all  times  the  lot  of 
the  dumb  millions  born  to  toil  was  defaced  with  manifold 
sufferings,  injustices,  heavy  burdens,  avoidable  and  unavoida- 
ble ;  not  play  at  all,  but  hard  work  that  made  the  sinewTs  sore, 
and  the  heart  sore.  As  bond-slaves,  villain,  bordarii,  soche- 
manni,  nay  indeed  as  dukes,  earls  and  kings,  men  were  often- 
times made  weary  of  their  life  ;  and  had  to  say,  in  the  sweat 
of  their  brow  and  of  their  soul,  Behold  it  is  not  sport,  it  is 
grim  earnest,  and  our  back  can  bear  no  more  !  Who  knows 
not  what  massacrings  and  harryings  there  have  been  ;  grind- 
ing, long-continuing,  unbearable  injustices, — till  the  heart 
had  to  rise  in  madness,  and  some  "  Etc  Sachsen,  nimith  ener 
sachses,  You  Saxons,  out  with  your  gully-knives  then  !  "  You 
Saxons,  some  '  arrestment,'  partial  6  arrestment  of  the  Knaves 
and  Dastards '  has  become  indispensable  ! — The  page  of  Dry- 
asdust is  heavy  with  such  details. 

And  yet  I  will  venture  to  believe  that  in  no  time,  since  the 
beginnings  of  Society,  was  the  lot  of  those  same  dumb  mill- 
ions of  toilers  so  entirely  unbearable  as  it  is  even  in  the  days 
now  passing  over  us.  It  is  not  to  die,  or  even  to  die  of 
hunger,  that  makes  a  man  wretched  ;  many  men  have  died  ; 
all  men  must  die, — the  last  exit  of  us  all  is  in  a  Fire-Chariot 
of  Pain.  But  it  is  to  live  miserable  we  know  not  why  ;  to 
work  sore  and  yet  gain  nothing ;  to  be  heart-worn,  weary,  yet 
isolated,  unrelated,  girt  in  with  a  cold  universal  Laissez-faire  : 
it  is  to  die  slowly  all  our  life  long,  imprisoned  in  a  deaf,  dead, 
Infinite  Injustice,  as  in  the  accursed  iron  belly  of  a  Phalaris' 
Bull !  This  is  and  remains  forever  intolerable  to  all  men 
whom  God  has  made.  Do  we  wonder  at  French  Bevolutions, 
Chartisms,  Be  volts  of  Three  Days?  The  times,  if  we  will 
consider  them,  are  really  unexampled. 

Never  before  did  I  hear  of  an  Irish  Widow  reduced  to 
'  prove  her  sisterhood  by  dying  of  typhus-fever  and  infecting 
'  seventeen  persons,' — saying  in  such  undeniable  way,  "  You 
see,  I  was  your  sister ! "  Sisterhood,  brotherhood  was  often 
forgotten  :  but  not  till  the  rise  of  these  ultimate  Mammon  and 
Shotbelt  Gospels,  did  I  ever  see  it  so  expressly  denied.  If  no 
pious  Lord  or  Law-ward  would  remember  it,  always  some 


204 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


pious  Lacly  ('  Hlaf-dig'  Benefactress,  '  Loaf-giveress,'  they  say 
she  is, — blessings  on  her  beautiful  heart !)  was  there,  with 
mild  mother-voice  and  hand,  to  remember  it ;  some  pious 
thoughtful  Elder,  what  we  now  call  £  Prester,'  Presbyter  or 
'  Priest,5  was  there  to  put  all  men  in  mind  of  it,  in  the  name 
of  the  God  who  had  made  all. 

Not  even  in  Black  Dahomey  was  it  ever,  I  think,  forgotten 
to  the  typhus-fever  length.  Mungo  Park,  resourceless,  had 
sunk  down  to  die  under  the  Negro  Village-Tree,  a  horrible 
White  object  in  the  eyes  of  all.  But  in  the  poor  Black  Wom- 
an, and  her  daughter  who  stood  aghast  at  him,  whose  earthly 
wealth  and  funded  capital  consisted  of  one  small  calabash  of 
rice,  there  lived  a  heart  richer  than  6  Laissez-faire  : '  they,  with 
a  royal  munificence,  boiled  their  rice  for  him  ;  they  sang  all 
night  to  him,  spinning  assiduous  on  their  cotton  distaffs,  as 
he  lay  to  sleep  :  "Let  us  pity  the  poor  white  man  ;  no  mother 
has  he  to  fetch  him  milk,  no  sister  to  grind  him  corn  !  "  Thou 
poor  black  Noble  One, — thou  Lady  too  :  did  not  a  God  make 
thee  too  ;  was  there  not  in  thee  too  something  of  a  God ! — 

Gurth  born  thrall  of  Cedric  the  Saxon  has  been  greatly 
pitied  by  Dryasdust  and  others.  Gurth  with  the  brass  collar 
round  his  neck,  tending  Cedric's  pigs  in  the  glades  of  the 
wood,  is  not  what  I  call  an  exemplar  of  human  felicity  :  but 
Gurth,  with  the  sky  above  him,  with  the  free  air  and  tinted 
boscage  and  umbrage  round  him,  and  in  him  at  least  the  cer- 
tainty of  supper  and  social  lodging  when  he  came  home  ; 
Gurth  to  me  seems  happy,  in  comparison  with  many  a  Lan- 
cashire and  Buckinghamshire  man,  of  these  days,  not  born 
thrall  of  anybody  !  Gurth's  brass  collar  did  not  gall  him  : 
Cedric  deserved  to  be  his  Master.  The  pigs  were  Cedric's,  but 
Gurth  too  would  get  his  parings  of  them.  Gurth  had  the  in- 
expressible satisfaction  of  feeling  himself  related  indissolubly, 
though  in  a  rude  brass-collar  way,  to  his  fellow-mortals  in  this 
Earth.  He  had  superiors,  inferiors,  equals. — Gurth  is  now 
'  emancipated'  long  since;  has  what  we  call  '  Liberty.'  Lib- 
erty, I  am  told,  is  a  Divine  thing.  Liberty  when  it  becomes 
the  '  Liberty  to  die  by  starvation '  is  not  so  divine  ! 


DEMOCRACY. 


205 


Liberty  ?  The  true  liberty  of  a  man  you  would  say,  con- 
sisted in  his  finding  out,  or  being  forced  to  find  out  the  right 
path,  and  to  walk  thereon.  To  learn  or  to  be  taught,  what 
work  lie  actually  was  able  for  ;  and  then  by  permission,  per- 
suasion, and  even  compulsion,  to  set  about  doing  of  the  same  ! 
That  is  his  true  blessedness,  honour,  '  liberty  '  and  maximum 
of  well  being  :  if  liberty  be  not  that,  I  for  one  have  small  care 
about  liberty.  You  do  not  allow  a  palpable  madman  to  leap 
over  precipices ;  you  violate  his  liberty,  you  that  are  wise  ; 
and  keep  him,  were  it  in  straight-waistcoats,  away  from 
the  precipices  !  Every  stupid,  every  cowardly  and  foolish 
man  is  but  a  less  palpable  madman  :  his  true  liberty  were  that 
a  wiser  man,  that  any  and  every  wiser  man,  could,  by  brass 
collars,  or  in  whatever  milder  or  sharper  way,  lay  hold  of  him 
when  he  was  going  wrong,  and  order  and  compel  him  to  go 
a  little  righter.  O  if  thou  really  art  my  Senior,  Seigneur,  my 
Elder,  Presbyter  or  Priest, — if  thou  art  in  very  deed  my 
Wiser,  may  a  beneficent  instinct  lead  and  impel  thee  to  £  con- 
quer '  me,  to  command  me  !  If  thou  do  know  better  than  I 
what  is  good  and  right,  I  conjure  you  in  the  name  of  God, 
force  me  to  do  it ;  w^ere  it  by  never  such  brass  collars,  whips 
and  handcuffs,  leave  me  not  to  walk  over  precipices  !  That  I 
have  been  called,  by  all  the  Newspapers,  a  c  free  man '  will 
avail  me  little,  if  my  pilgrimage  have  ended  in  death  and 
wreck.  O  that  the  Newspapers  had  called  me  slave,  coward, 
fool,  or  what  it  pleased  their  sweet  voices  to  name  me,  and 
I  had  attained  not  death,  but  life ! — Liberty  requires  new 
definitions. 

A  conscious  abhorrence  and  intolerance  of  Folly,  of  Base- 
ness, Stupidity,  Poltroonery  and  all  that  brood  of  things, 
dwells  deep  in  some  men  :  still  deeper  in  others  and  uncon- 
scious  abhorrence  and  intolerance,  clothed  moreover  by  the 
beneficent  Supreme  Powers  in  what  stout  appetites,  ener- 
gies, egoisms  so-called,  are  suitable  to  it  ; — these  latter  are 
your  Conquerors,  Romans,  Normans,  Russians,  Indo-English  ; 
Founders  of  what  we  call  Aristocracies.  Which  indeed  have 
they  not  the  most  '  divine  right '  to  found  ; — being  themselves 
very  truly  "Apioroi,  Bravest,  Best  ;  and  conquering  generally 


206 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


a  confused  rabble  of  Worst,  or  at  lowest,  clearly  enough,  of 
Worse  ?  I  think  their  divine  right,  tried  with  affirmatory 
verdict,  in  the  greatest  Law-Court  known  to  me,  was  good  ! 
A  class  of  men  who  are  dreadfully  exclaimed  against  by  Dry- 
asdust ;  of  whom  nevertheless  beneficent  Nature  has  often- 
times had  need  ;  and  may,  alas,  again  have  need. 

When,  across  the  hundredfold  poor  scepticisms,  trivialisms, 
and  constitutional  cobwebberies  of  Dryasdust,  you  catch  any 
glimpse  of  a  William  the  Conqueror,  a  Tancred  of  Hauteville 
or  such  like, — do  you  not  discern  veritably  some  rude  outline 
of  a  true  God-made  King  ;  whom  not  the  Champion  of  Eng- 
land cased  in  tin,  but  all  Nature  and  the  Universe  were  call- 
ing to  the  throne?  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  he  get 
thither.  Nature  does  not  mean  her  poor  Saxon  children  to 
perish,  of  obesity,  stupor  or  other  malady,  as  yet :  a  stern 
Ruler  and  Line  of  Rulers  therefore  is  called  in, — a  stern  but 
most  beneficent  Perpetual  House-Surgeon  is  by  Nature  herself 
called  in,  and  even  the  appropriate  fees  are  provided  for  him  ! 
Dryasdust  talks  lamentably  about  Here  ward  and  the  Fen  Coun- 
ties ;  fate  of  Earl  Waltheof ;  Yorkshire  and  the  North  re- 
duced to  ashes  ;  all  which  is  undoubtedly  lamentable.  But 
even  Dryasdust  apprises  me  of  one  fact :  '  A  child,  in  this 
William's  reign,  might  have  carried  a  purse  of  gold  from  end 
to  end  of  England.'  My  erudite  friend,  it  is  a  fact  which  out- 
weighs a  thousand !  Sweep  away  thy  constitutional,  senti- 
mental and  other  cobwebberies  ;  look  eye  to  eye,  if  thou  still 
have  any  eye,  in  the  face  of  this  big  burly  William  Bastard  : 
thou  wilt  see  a  fellow  of  most  flashing  discernment,  of  most 
strong  lion-heart ; — in  whom,  as  it  were,  within  a  frame  of 
oak  and  iron,  the  gods  have  planted  the  soul  of  '  a  man  of 
genius  ! '  Dost  thou  call  that  nothing  ?  I  call  it  an  immense 
thing  ! — Rage  enough  was  in  this  Willeimus  Conquestor,  rage 
enough  for  his  occasions  ;— and  yet  the  essential  element  of 
him,  as  of  all  such  men,  is  not  scorching  fire,  but  shining  il- 
luminative light.  Fire  and  light  are  strangely  interchange- 
able ;  nay,  at  bottom,  I  have  found  them  different  forms  of 
the  same  most  godlike  '  elementary  substance  3  in  our  world  • 
a  thing  worth  stating  in  these  days.    The  essential  element 


DEMOCRACY. 


207 


of  this  Conquestor  is,  first  of  all,  the  most  sun-eyed  perception 
of  what  is  really  what  on  this  God's-Earth  ; — which,  thou  wilt 
find,  does  mean  at  bottom  '  Justice,'  and  '  Virtues  '  not  a  few  : 
Conformity  to  what  the  Maker  has  been  good  to  make  ;  that, 
I  suppose,  will  mean  Justice  and  a  Virtue  or  two  ? — 

Dost  thou  think  Willelmus  Conquestor  would  have  tolerated 
ten  years'  jargon,  on  the  propriety  of  killing  Cotton-manufact- 
ures by  partridge  Corn-Laws  ?  I  fancy,  this  was  not  the  man 
to  knock  out  of  his  night's-rest  with  nothing  but  a  noisy  bed- 
lamism  in  your  mouth  !  "  Assist  us  still  better  to  bush  the 
partridges  ;  strangle  Plugson  who  spins  the  shirts  ?  " — i(  Par 
la  Splendeur  de  Dieu  !  "  Dost  thou  think  Willelmus  Con- 
questor, in  this  new  time,  with  Steamengine  Captains  of  In- 
dustry on  one  hand  of  him,  and  Joe-Man  ton  Captains  of  Idle- 
ness on  the  other,  would  have  doubted  which  was  really  the 
Best  ;  which  did  deserve  strangling,  and  which  not  ? 

I  have  a  certain  indestructible  regard  for  Willelmus  Conques- 
tor. A  resident  House-Surgeon,  provided  by  Nature  for  her 
beloved  English  People,  and  even  furnished  with  the  requi- 
site fees  as  I  said  ;  for  he  by  no  means  felt  himself  doing- 
Nature's  work,  this  Willelmus,  but  his  own  work  exclusively  ! 
And  his  own  work  withal  it  was  ;  informed  'par  la  Splendeur 
de  Dieu.' — I  say,  it  is  necessary  to  get  the  work  out  of  such  a 
man,  however  harsh  that  be  !  When  a  world,  not  yet  doomed 
for  death,  is  rushing  down  to  ever- deeper  Baseness  and  Con- 
fusion, it  is  a  dire  necessity  of  Nature's  to  bring  in  her  Aris- 
tocracies, her  Best,  even  by  forcible  methods.  When  their 
descendants  or  representatives  cease  entirely  to  be  the  Best, 
Nature's  poor  world  will  very  soon  rush  down  again  to  Base- 
ness ;  and  it  becomes  a  dire  necessity  of  Nature's  to  cast  them 
out.  Hence  French  Be  volutions,  Five-point  Charters,  Democ- 
racies, and  a  mournful  list  of  Etceteras,  in  these  our  afflicted 
times. 

To  what  extent  Democracy  has  now  reached,  how  it  ad- 
vances irresistible  with  ominous,  ever-increasing  speed,  he 
that  will  open  his  eyes  on  any  province  of  human  affairs  may 
discern.  Democracy  is  everywhere  the  inexorable  demand  of 
these  ages,  swiftly  fulfilling  itself.    From  the  thunder  of 


208 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


Napoleon  battles,  to  the  jabbering  of  Open-vestry  in  St.  Mary 
Axe,  all  things  announce  Democracy.  A  distinguished  man, 
whom  some  of  my  readers  will  hear  again  with  pleasure,  thus 
writes  to  me  what  in  these  days  he  notes  from  the  Wahngasse 
of  Weissnichtwo,  where  our  London  fashions  seem  to  be  in 
full  vogue.  Let  us  hear  the  Herr  Teufelsdrockh  again,  were 
it  but  the  smallest  word  ! 

£  Democracy,  which  means  despair  of  finding  any  Heroes  to 
'  govern  you,  and  contented  putting  up  with  the  want  of 
'  them, — alas,  thou  too,  mein  Lieber,  seest  well  how  close  it  is 
'of  kin  to  Atheism,  and  other  sad  Isms:  he  wdio  discovers  no 
'God  whatever,  how  shall  he  discover  Heroes,  the  visible 
1 Temples  of  God  ? — Strange  enough  meanwhile  it  is,  to  ob- 
'  serve  with  what  thoughtlessness,  here  in  our  rigidly  Conserv- 
'  ative  Country,  men  rush  into  Democracy  with  full  cry.  Be- 
'  yond  doubt,  his  Excellenz  the  Titular  Herr  Bitter  Kauder- 
'walsch  von  Pferdefuss-Quacksalber,  he  our  distinguished 
'  Conservative  Premier  himself,  and  all  but  the  thicker-headed 
6  of  his  Party,  discern  Democracy  to  be  inevitable  as  death, 
'  and  are  even  desperate  of  delaying  it  much ! 

4  You  cannot  walk  the  streets  without  beholding  Democracy 
'  announce  itself  :  the  very  Tailor  has  become,  if  not  properly 
'  Sansculottic,  which  to  him  would  be  ruinous,  yet  a  Tailor 
'  unconsciously  symbolising,  and  prophesying  with  his  scissors, 
'  the  reign  of  Equality.  What  now  is  our  fashionable  coat  ? 
'  A  thing  of  superfinest  texture,  of  deeply  meditated  cut ; 
'  with  Mahnes-lace  cuffs  ;  quilted  with  gold  ;  so  that  a  man 
'  can  carry  without  difficulty  an  estate  of  land  on  his  back  ? 
c  Keinesiuegs,  By  no  manner  of  means  !  The  Sumptuary  Laws 
'  have  fallen  into  such  a  state  of  desuetude  as  was  never  before 
'  seen.  Our  fashionable  coat  is  an  amphibium  between  barn- 
1  sack  and  drayman's  doublet.  The  cloth  of  it  is  studiously 
'  coarse  ;  the  colour  a  speckled  soot-black  or  rust-brown  grey; 
c — the  nearest  approach  to  a  Peasant's.  And  for  shape,  thou 
'  shouldst  see  it !  The  last  consummation  of  the  year  now 
'  passing  over  us  is  definable  as  Three  Bags  :  a  big  bag  for  the 
1  body,  two  small  bags  for  the  arms,  and  by  way  of  collar 
6  a  hem  !    The  first  Antique  Cheruscan  who,  of  felt-cloth  or 


DEMOCRACY. 


209 


*  bear's-hide,  with  bone  or  metal  needle,  set  about  making 
himself  a  coat,  before  Tailors  had  yet  awakened  out  of 
£  Nothing, — did  not  he  make  it  even  so  ?  A  loose  wide  poke 
'  for  body,  with  two  holes  to  let  out  the  arms  ;  this  was  his 
'  original  coat :  to  which  holes  it  was  soon  visible  that  two 
'  small  loose  pokes,  or  sleeves,  easily  appended,  would  be  an 

*  improvement. 

'  Thus  has  the  Tailor  art,  so  to  speak,  overset  itself,  like 
£  most  other  things  ;  changed  its  centre-of-gravity  ;  whirled 
£  suddenly  over  from  zenith  to  nadir.  Your  Stulz,  with  huge 
1  somerset,  vaults  from  his  high  shopboard  down  to  the  depths 
£  of  primal  savagery, — carrying  much  along  with  him!  For 
'  I  will  invite  thee  to  reflect  that  the  Tailor,  as  topmost  ulti- 
£  mate  froth  of  Human  Society,  is  indeed  swift-passing,  evan- 
£  escent,  slippery  to  decipher  ;  yet  significant  of  much,  nay  of 
£  all.  Topmost  evanescent  froth,  he  is  churned  up  from  the 
'  very  lees,  and  from  all  intermediate  regions  of  the  liquor. 
'The  general  outcome  he,  visible  to  the  eye,  of  what  men 
£ aimed  to  do,  and  were  obliged  and  enabled  to  do,  in  this  one 
6  public  department  of  symbolising  themselves  to  each  other 

*  by  covering  of  their  skins.  A  smack  of  all  Human  Life  lies 
£  in  the  Tailor  :  its  wild  struggles  towards  beauty,  dignity,  free- 
£  dom,  victory  ;  and  how,  hemmed  in  by  Sedan  and  Hudders- 
'  field,  by  Nescience,  Dulness,  Prurience,  and  other  sad  neces- 
£  sities  and  laws  of  Nature,  it  has  attained  just  to  this  :  Grey 
£  savagery  of  Three  Sacks  with  a  hem  ! 

'  When  the  very  Tailor  verges  toward  Sansculottism.  is  it 
' not  ominous  ?  The  last  Divinity  of  poor  mankind  dethron- 
£  ing  himself  ;  sinking  his  taper  too,  flame  downmost,  like  the 
£  Genius  of  Sleep  or  of  Death  ;  admonitory  that  Tailor- time 
■  shall  be  no  more ! — For,  little  as  one  could  advise  Sumptuary 
£  Laws  at  the  present  epoch,  yet  nothing  is  clearer  than  that 
£  where  ranks  do  actually  exist,  strict  division  of  costumes  will 
£  also  be  enforced  ;  that  if  we  ever  have  a  new  Hierarchy 
£  and  Aristocracy,  acknowledged  veritably  as  such,  for  which 
£  I  daily  pray  Heaven,  the  Tailor  will  reawaken  ;  and  be,  by 
'volunteering  and  appointment,  consciously  and  unconsei- 
{  ously,  a  safeguard  of  that  same/ — Certain  further  observa- 
14 


210 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


tions,  from  the  same  invaluable  pen,  on  our  never-ending 

changes  of  mode,  our  '  perpetual  nomadic  and  even  ape-like 
appetite  for  change  and  mere  change  '  in  all  the  equipments 
of  our  existence,  and  the  'fatal  revolutionary  character' 
thereby  manifested,  we  suppress  for  the  present.  It  may  ba 
admitted  that  Democracy,  in  all  meanings  of  the  word,  is 
in  full  career  ;  irresistible  by  any  Ritter  Kauderwalsch  or 
other  Son  of  Adam,  as  times  go.  '  Liberty '  is  a  thing  men 
are  determined  to  have. 

But  truly,  as  I  have  to  remark  in  the  meanwhile,  '  the 
liberty  of  not  being  oppressed  by  your  fellow  man '  is  an  in- 
dispensable, yet  one  of  the  most  insignificant  fractional  parts 
of  Human  Liberty.  No  man  oppresses  thee,  can  bid  thee 
fetch  or  carry,  come  or  go,  without  reason  shown.  True ; 
from  all  men  thou  art  emancipated  :  but  from  Thyself  and 
from  the  Devil — ?  No  man,  wiser,  unwiser,  can  make  thee 
come  or  go  :  but  thy  own  futilities,  bewilderments,  thy  false 
appetites  for  Money,  Windsor  Georges  and  such  like  ?  No 
man  oppresses  thee,  O  free  and  independent  Franchiser  :  but 
does  not  this  stupid  Porter-pot  oppress  thee.?  No  Son  of 
Adam  can  bid  thee  come  or  go  ;  but  this  absurd  Pot  of 
Heavy  wet,  this  can  and  does  !  Thou  art  the  thrall  not  of 
Cedric  the  Saxon,  but  of  thy  own  brutal  appetites,  and  this 
scoured  dish  of  liquor.  And  thou  pratest  of  thy  c  liberty  ? ' 
Thou  entire  blockhead  ! 

Heavy- wet  and  gin  :  alas,  these  are  not  the  only  kinds  of 
thraldom.  Thou  who  walkest  in  a  vain  shew,  looking  out 
with  ornamental  dilettante  sniff,  and  serene  supremacy,  at  all 
Life  and  all  Death  ;  and  amblest  jauntily  ;  perking  up  thy 
poor  talk  into  crochets,  thy  poor  conduct  into  fatuous  som- 
nambulisms ; — and  art  as  an  8  enchanted  Ape '  under  God's 
sky,  where  thou  mightest  have  been  a  man,  had  proper 
Schoolmasters  and  Conquerors,  and  Constables  with  cat-o'- 
nine  tails,  been  vouchsafed  thee  ;  dost  thou  call  that 8  liberty  ? ' 
Or  your  unreposing  Mammon-worshipper,  again,  driven,  as  if 
by  Galvanisms,  by  Devils  and  Fixed-Ideas,  who  rises  early 
and  sits  late,  chasing  the  impossible  ;  straining  every  faculty 


DEMOCRACY. 


211 


to  'fill  himself  with  the  east  wind,' — how  merciful  were  it, 
could  you,  by  mild  persuasion  or  by  the  severest  tyranny  so- 
called,  check  him  in  his  mad  path,  and  turn  him  into  a  wiser 
one !  All  painful  tyranny,  in  that  case  again,  were  but  mild 
'  surgery  ; '  the  pain  of  it  cheap,  as  health  and  life,  instead  of 
galvanism  and  fixed-idea,  are  cheap  at  any  price. 

Sure  enough,  of  all  paths  a  man  could  strike  into,  there  is, 
at  any  given  moment,  a  best  path  for  every  man  ;  a  thing 
which,  here  and  now,  it  were  of  all  things  wisest  for  him  to 
do  ; — which  could  he  be  but  led  or  driven  to  do,  he  were 
then  doing  £  like  a  man,'  as  we  phrase  it ;  all  men  and  gods 
agreeing  with  him,  the  whole  Universe  virtually  exclaiming 
Well-done  to  him  !  His  success,  in  such  case,  were  complete  ; 
his  felicity  a  maximum.  This  path,  to  find  this  path  and 
walk  in  it,  is  the  one  thing  needful  for  him.  Whatsoever 
forwards  him  in  that,  let  it  come  to  him  even  in  the  shape  of 
blows  and  spurnings,  is  liberty :  whatsoever  hinders  him, 
were  it  wardmotes,  open-vestries,  pollbooths  tremendous 
cheers,  rivers  of  heavy-wet,  is  slavery. 

The  notion  that  a  man's  liberty  consists  in  giving  his  vote 
at  election-hustings,  and  saying,  "Behold  now  I  too  have  my 
twenty-thousandth  part  of  a  Talker  in  our  National  Palaver  ; 
will  not  all  the  gods  be  good  to  me  ?  " — is  one  of  the  pleas- 
antes  t  !  Nature  nevertheless  is  kind  at  present ;  and  puts  it 
into  the  heads  of  many,  almost  of  all.  The  liberty  especially 
which  has  to  purchase  itself  by  social  isolation,  and  each  man 
standing  separate  from  the  other,  having  cno  business  with 
him '  but  a  cash-account :  this  is  such  a  liberty  as  the  Earth 
seldom  saw  ; — as  the  Earth  will  not  long  put  up  with,  recom- 
mend it  how  you  may.  This  liberty  turns  out,  before  it  have 
long  continued  in  action,  with  all  men  flinging  up  their  caps 
round  it,  to  be,  for  the  Working  Millions  a  liberty  to  die  by 
want  of  'food  ;  for  the  Idle  Thousands  and  Units,  alas,  a  still 
more  fatal  liberty  to  live  in  want  of  work  ;  to  have  no  earnest 
duty  to  do  in  this  God's-W^orld  any  more.  What  becomes  of 
a  man  in  such  predicament  ?  Earth's  Laws  are  silent ;  and 
Heaven's  speak  in  a  voice  which  is  not  heard.  No  work,  and 
the  ineradicable  need  of  work,  give  rise  to  new  very  wondrous 


212 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


life-philosophies,  new  very  wondrous  life-practices !  Dilet- 
tantism, Pococurantism,  Beau-Brummelism,  with  perhaps  an 
occasional,  half-mad,  protesting  burst  of  Byronism,  establish 
themselves  :  at  the  end  of  a  certain  period,  if  you  go  back  to 
6  the  Dead  Sea,'  there  is,  say  our  Moslem  friends,  a  very 
strange  '  Sabbath-day  '  transacting  itself  there  ! — Brethren, 
we  know  but  imperfectly  yet,  after  ages  of  Constitutional 
Government,  what  Liberty  and  Slavery  are. 

Democracy,  the  chase  of  Liberty  in  that  direction,  shall  go 
its  full  course  ;  unrestrainable  by  him  of  Pferdefuss-Quack- 
salber,  or  any  of  his  household.  The  Toiling  Millions  of 
Mankind,  in  most  vital  need  and  passionate  instinctive  desire 
of  Guidance,  shall  cast  away  False-Guidance  ;  and  hope,  for 
an  hour,  that  No-Guidance  will  suffice  them  :  but  it  can  be 
for  an  hour  only.  The  smallest  item  of  human  Slavery  is  the 
oppression  of  man  by  his  Mock-Superiors  ;  the  palpablest, 
but  I  say  at  bottom  the  smallest.  Let  him  shake  off  such  op- 
pression, trample  it  indignantly  under  his  feet ;  I  blame  him 
not,  I  pity  and  commend  him.  But  oppression  by  your 
Mock- Superiors  well  shaken  off,  the  grand  problem  yet  re- 
mains to  solve  :  That  of  finding  government  by  your  Real- 
Superiors  !  Alas,  how  shall  we  ever  learn  the  solution  of 
that,  benighted,  bewildered,  sniffing,  sneering,  godforgetting 
unfortunates  as  we  are  ?  It  is  a  work  for  centuries  ;  to  be 
taught  us  by  tribulations,  confusions,  insurrections,  obstruc- 
tions ;  who  knows  if  not  by  conflagration  and  despair  !  It  is 
a  lesson  inclusive  of  all  other  lessons  ;  the  hardest  of  all  les- 
sons to  learn. 

One  thing  I  do  know  :  Those  Apes,  chattering  on  the 
branches  by  the  Dead  Sea,  never  got  it  learned  ;  but  chatter 
there  to  this  day.  To  them  no  Moses  need  come  a  second 
time  ;  a  thousand  Moseses  would  be  but  so  many  painted 
Phantasms,  interesting  Fellow- Apes  of  new  strange  aspect, — 
whom  they  would  'invite  to  dinner,'  be  glad  to  meet  with  in 
lion-soirees.  To  them  the  voice  of  Prophecy,  of  heavenly 
monition,  is  quite  ended.  They  chatter  there,  all  Heaven 
shut  to  them,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  The  unfortunates  ! 
O,  what  is  dying  of  hunger,  with  honest  tools  in  your  hand, 


DEMOCRACY. 


213 


with  a  manful  purpose  in  your  heart,  and  much  real  labour 
lying  round  you  done  in  comparison  ?  You  honestly  quit 
your  tools  ;  quit  a  most  muddy,  confused  coil  of  sore  work, 
short  rations,  of  sorrows,  dispiritments  and  contradictions, 
having  now  honestly  done  with  it  all ; — and  await,  not 
entirely  in  a  distracted  manner,  what  the  Supreme  Pow- 
ers, and  the  Silences  and  the  Eternities  may  have  to  say  to 
you. 

A  second  thing  I  know  :  This  lesson  will  have  to  be  learned, 
— under  penalties  !  England  will  either  learn  it,  or  England 
also  will  cease  to  exist  among  Nations.  England  will  either 
learn  to  reverence  its  Heroes,  and  discriminate  them  from  its 
Sham-Heroes  and  Valets  and  gaslighted  Histrios  ;  and  to 
prize  them  as  the  audible  God's-voice,  amid  all  inane  jargons 
and  temporary  market-cries,  and  say  to  them  with  heart-loy- 
alty, "  Be  ye  King  and  Priest,  and  Gospel  and  Guidance  for 
us  : "  or  else  England  will  continue  to  worship  new  and  ever- 
new  forms  of  Quackhood, — and  so,  with  what  resiliences  and 
reboundings  matters  little,  go  down  to  the  Father  of  Quacks ! 
Can  I  dread  such  things  of  England  ?  Wretched,  thick-eyed, 
gross-hearted  mortals,  why  will  ye  worship  lies,  and  'Stuffed 
Clothes-suits,  created  by  the  ninth-parts  of  men  ! '  It  is  not 
your  purses  that  suffer  ;  your  farm-rents,  your  commerces, 
your  mill-revenues,  loud  as  ye  lament  over  these  ;  no,  it  is 
not  these  alone,  but  a  far  deeper  than  these  :  it  is  your  souls 
that  lie  dead,  crushed  down  under  despicable  Nightmares, 
Atheisms,  Brain-fumes';  and  are  not  souls  at  all,  but  mere 
succedanea  for  salt  to  keep  your  bodies  and  their  appetites 
from  putrefying  !  Your  cotton-spinning  and  thrice-miracu- 
lous mechanism,  what  is  this  too,  by  itself,  but  a  larger  kind 
of  Animalism  ?  Spiders  can  spin,  Beavers  can  build  and 
shew  contrivance  ;  the  Ant  lays  up  accumulation  of  capital, 
and  has,  for  aught  I  know,  a  Bank  of  Antland.  If  there  is  no 
soul  in  man  higher  than  all  that,  did  it  reach  to  sailing  on 
the  cloud-rack  and  spinning  sea-sand  ;  then  I  say,  man  is  but 
an  animal,  a  more  cunning  kind  of  brute  :  he  has  no  soul,  but 
only  a  succedaneum  for  salt.  Whereupon,  seeing  himself  to 
be  truly  of  the  beasts  that  perish,  he  ought  to  admit  it,  I 


214 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


think  ;— and  also  straightway  universally  to  kill  himself  ;  and 
so,  in  a  manlike  manner,  at  least,  endy  and  wave  these  brute- 
worlds  his  dignified  farewell ! — 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIR   J ABES  H  WINDBAG. 

Oliver  Cromwell,  whose  body  they  hung  on  their  Tyburn 
Gallows  because  he  had  found  the  Christian  Religion  inexe- 
cu table  in  this  country,  remains  to  me  by  far  the  remarkablest 
Governor  we  have  had  here  for  the  last  five  centuries  or  so. 
For  the  last  five  centuries,  there  has  been  no  Governor  among 
us  with  anything  like  similar  talent ;  and  for  the  last  two  cen- 
turies, no  Governor,  we  may  say,  wTith  the  possibility  of  similar 
talent,— with  an  idea  in  the  heart  of  him  capable  of  inspiring 
similar  talent,  capable  of  coexisting  therewith.  When  you 
consider  that  Oliver  believed  in  a  God,  the  difference  between 
Oliver's  position  and  that  of  any  subsequent  Governor  of  this 
Country  becomes,  the  more  you  reflect  on  it,  the  more  im- 
measurable ! 

Oliver,  no  volunteer  in  Public  Life,  but  plainly  a  baliotted 
soldier  strictly  ordered  thither,  enters  upon  Public  Life  ;  com- 
ports himself  there  like  a  man  who  carried  his  own  life  in  his 
hand  ;  like  a  man  whose  Great  Commander's  eye  was  always 
on  him.  Not  without  results.  Oliver;  well  advanced  in  years, 
finds  now,  by  Destiny  and  his  own  Deservings,  or  as  he  him- 
self better  phrased  it,  by  wondrous  successive  '  Births  of  Provi- 
dence,' the  Government  of  England  put  into  his  hands.  In 
senate-house  and  battle-field,  in  counsel  and  in  action,  in  pri- 
vate and  in  public,  this  man  has  proved  himself  a  man  :  Eng- 
land and  the  voice  of  God,  through  waste  awful  whirlwinds 
and  environments,  speaking  to  his  great  heart,  summon  him 
to  assert  formally,  in  the  way  of  solemn  Public  Fact  and  as  a 
new  piece  of  English  Law,  what  informally  and  by  Nature's 
eternal  Law  needed  no  asserting,  That  he,  Oliver,  was  the 
Ablest-Man  of  England,  the  King  of  England  ;  that  he,  Oliver, 


SIB  JABESH  WINDBAG. 


215 


would  undertake  governing  England.  His  way  of  making  the 
same  'assertion/  the  one  way  he  had  of  making  it,  has  given 
rise  to  immense  criticism  :  but  the  assertion  itself  in  what 
way  soever  -  made,'  is  it  not  somewhat  of  a  solemnone,  some- 
what of  a  tremendous  one  ! 

And  now  do  but  contrast  this  Oliver  with  my  right  honour- 
able friend  Sir  Jabesh  Windbag,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways,  Vis- 
count Mealymouth,  Earl  of  Windlestraw,  or  what  other  Cag- 
liostro,  Cagliostrino,  Cagliostraccio,  the  course  of  Fortune 
and  Parliamentary  Majorities  has  constitutionally  guided  to 
that  dignity,  any  time  during  these  last  sorrowful  hundred- 
and-fifty  years  !  Windbag,  weak  in  the  faith  of  a  God,  which 
he  believes  only  at  Church  on  Sundays,  if  even  then  ;  strong 
only  in  the  faith  that  Paragraphs  and  Plausibilities  bring 
votes  ;  that  force  of  Public  Opinion  as  he  calls  it,  is  the  pri- 
mal Necessity  of  Things,  and  highest  God  we  have  : — Wind- 
bag, if  we  will  consider  him,  has  a  problem  set  before  him 
which  may  be  ranged  in  the  impossible  class.  He  is  a  Co- 
lumbus minded  to  sail  to  the  indistinct  country  of  Nowhere, 
to  the  indistinct  country  of  Whitherward,  by  the  friendship 
of  those  same  waste-tumbling  Water-Alps  and  howling  waltz 
of  All  the  WTinds  ;  not  by  conquest  of  them  and  in  spite  of 
them,  but  by  friendship  of  them,  when  once  they  have  made 
up  their  mind  !  He  is  the  most  original  Columbus  I  ever 
saw.  Nay,  his  problem  is  not  an  impossible  one  :  he  will  in- 
fallibly arrive  at  that  same  country  of  Nowhere  ;  his  indistinct 
Whitherward  will  be  a  Thiiher-vt&rdL !  In  the  Ocean  Abysses 
and  Locker  of  Davy  Jones,  there  certainly  enough  do  he  and 
his  ship's  company,  and  all  their  cargo  and  navigatings,  at 
last  find  lodgement. 

Oliver  knew  that  his  America  lay  There,  Westward  Ho  : — ■ 
and  it  was  not  entirely  by  friendship  of  the  Water-Alps,  and 
yeasty  insane  Froth-Oceans,  that  he  meant  to  get  thither  !  He 
sailed  accordingly  ;  had  compass-card,  and  Eules  of  Navigation, 
— older  and  greater  than  these  Froth- Oceans,  old  as  the  Eter- 
nal God  !  Or  again,  do  but  think  of  this.  Windbag  in  these 
his  probable  five  yea^s  of  office  has  to  prosper  and  get  Para- 
graphs :  the  Paragraphs  of  these  five  years  must  be  his  salva- 


216 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


tion,  or  lie  is  a  lost  man  ;  redemption  nowhere  in  the  Worlds 
or  in  the  Times  discoverable  for  him.  Oliver  too  would  like 
his  Paragraphs  ;  successes,  popularities  in  these  five  years  are 
not  undesirable  to  him  :  but  mark,  I  say,  this  enormous  cir- 
cumstance :  after  these  five  years  are  gone  and  done,  comes 
an  Eternity  for  Oliver  !  Oliver  has  to  appear  before  the  Most 
High  Judge  :  the  utmost  flow  of  Paragraphs,  the  utmost  ebb 
of  them,  is  now,  in  strictest  arithmetic,  verily  no  matter  at 
all ;  its  exact  value  zero  ;  an  account  altogether  erased  !  Enor- 
mous ; — which  a  man,  in  these  days,  hardly  fancies  with  an 
effort !  Oliver's  Paragraphs  are  all  done,  his  battles,  division- 
lists,  successes  all  summed  :  and  now  in  that  awful  unerring 
Court  of  Review,  the  real  question  first  rises,  "Whether  he  has 
succeeded  at  all ;  whether  he  has  not  been  defeated  miserably 
forevermore  ?  Let  him  come  with  world-wide  lo-Pceans,  these 
avail  him  not.  Let  him  come  covered  over  with  the  world's 
execrations,  gashed  with  ignominious  death- wounds,  the  gal- 
lows-rope about  his  neck  :  what  avails  that  ?  The  word  is, 
Come  thou  brave  and  faithful  ;  the  word  is,  Depart  thou 
quack  and  accursed  ! 

O  Windbag,  my  right  honourable  friend,  in  very  truth  J 
pity  thee.  I  say,  these  Paragraphs,  and  low  or  loud  votings 
of  thy  poor  fellow-blockheads  of  mankind,  will  never  guide 
thee  in  any  enterprise  at  all.  Govern  a  country  on  such  guid- 
ance ?  Thou  canst  not  make  a  pair  of  shoes,  sell  a  penny- 
worth of  tape,  on  such.  No,  thy  shoes  are  vamped  up  falsely 
to  meet  the  market ;  behold,  the  leather  only  seemed  to  be 
tanned  ;  thy  shoes  melt  under  me  to  rubbishy  pulp,  and  are 
not  veritable  mud-defying  shoes,  but  plausible  vendible  simili- 
tudes of  shoes, — thou  unfortunate,  and  I !  O  my  right  honour- 
able friend,  when  the  Paragraphs  flowed  in,  who  was  like  Sir 
Jabesh  ?  On  the  swelling  tide  he  mounted  ;  higher,  higher, 
triumphant,  heaven-high.  But  the  Paragraphs  again  ebbed 
out,  as  unwise  Paragraphs  needs  must :  Sir  Jabesh  lies 
stranded,  sunk  and  forever  sinking  -in  ignominious  ooze  ;  the 
Mud-nymphs,  and  ever-deepening  bottomless  Oblivion,  his 
portion  to  eternal  time.  '  Posterity  ?  '  •  Thou  appealest  to 
Posterity,  thou  ?    My  right  honourable  friend,  what  will  Pos* 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


217 


terity  do  for  thee  !  The  voting  of  Posterity,  were  it  contin- 
ued through  centuries  in  thy  favour,  will  be  quite  inaudible, 
extra-forensic,  without  any  effect  whatever.  Posterity  can  do 
simply  nothing  for  a  man ;  nor  even  seem  to  do  much,  if  the 
man  be  not  brainsick.  Besides,  to  tell  thee  truth,  the  bets 
are  a  thousand  to  one,  Posterity  will  not  hear  of  thee,  my 
right  honourable  friend !  Posterity,  I  have  found,  has  gen- 
erally his  own  Windbags  sufficiently  trumpeted  in  all  market- 
places, and  no  leisure  to  attend  to  ours.  Posterity  which  has 
made  of  Norse  Odin  a  similitude,  and  of  Norman  William  a 
brute  monster,  what  will  or  can  it  make  of  English  Jabesh  ? 
O  Heavens,  '  Posterity  ! 5 — 

"  These  poor  persecuted  Scotch  Covenanters,"  said  I  to  my 
inquiring  Frenchman,  in  such  stinted  French  as  stood  at  com- 
mand, "Us  s'en  appelaient  d" — "A  la  Posteiite,"  interrupted 
he,  helping  me  out. — "Ah,  Monsieur,  non,  mille  fois  non ! 
They  appealed  to  the  Eternal  God  ;  not  to  Posterity  at  all ! 
C'etait  different" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MOREI SON  AGAIN. 

Nevektheless,  O  advanced  Liberal,  one  cannot  promise  thee 
any  'New  Religion,'  for  some  time;  to  say  truth,  I  do  not 
think  we  have  the  smallest  chance  of  any !  Will  the  candid 
reader,  by  way  of  closing  this  Book  Third,  listen  to  a  few 
transient  remarks  on  that  subject  ? 

Candid  readers  have  not  lately  met  with  any  man  who  had 
less  notion  to  interfere  with  their  Thirty-Nine,  or  other  Church- 
Articles  ;  wherewith,  very  helplessly,  as  is  like,  they  may  have 
struggled  to  form  for  themselves  some  not  inconceivable  hy- 
pothesis about  this  Universe,  and  their  own  Existence  there. 
Superstition,  my  friend,  is  far  from  me  ;  Fanaticism,  for  any 
Fanum  likely  to  arise  soon  on  this  Earth,  is  far.  A  man's 
Church-Articles  are  surely  articles  of  price  to  him  ;  and  in 
these  times  one  has  to  be  tolerent  of  many  strange  '  Articles,' 
and  of  many  still  stranger  £  No-articles, '  which  go  about  plac- 
arding themselves  in  a  very  distracted  manner, — the  numer- 


218 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


ous  long  placard -poles,  and  questionable  infirm  paste-pots,  in- 
terfering with  one's  peaceable  thoroughfare  sometimes ! 

Fancy  a  man,  moreover,  recommending  his  fellow-men  to 
believe  in  God,  that  so  Chartism  might  abate,  and  the  Man- 
chester Operatives  be  got  to  spin  peaceably  !  The  idea  is 
more  distracted  than  any  placard-pole  seen  hitherto  in  a  pub- 
lic thoroughfare  of  men  !  My  friend,  if  thou  ever  do  come  to 
believe  in  God,  thou  wilt  find  all  Chartism,  Manchester  riot, 
Parliamentary  incompetence,  Ministries  of  Windbag,  and  the 
wildest  Social  Dissolutions,  and  the  burning  up  of  this  entire 
Planet,  a  most  small  matter  in  comparison.  Brother,  this 
Planet,  I  find,  is  but  an  inconsiderable  sandgrain  in  the  conti- 
nents of  Being  :  this  Planet's  poor  temporary  interests,  thy 
interests  and  my  interests  there,  when  I  looked  fixedly  into 
that  eternal  Light-Sea  and  Flame-Sea  with  Us  eternal  interests, 
dwindle  literally  into  Nothing;  my  speech  of  it  is— silence 
for  the  while.  I  will  as  soon  think  of  making  Galaxies  and 
Star-Systems  to  guide  little  herring-vessels  by,  as  of  preach- 
ing Religion  that  the  Constable  may  continue  possible.  O 
my  Advanced-Liberal  friend,  this  new  second  progress,  of  pro- 
ceeding '  to  invent  God,'  is  a  very  strange  one  !  Jacobinism 
unfolded  into  Saint-Simonism  bodes  innumerable  blessed 
things  ;  but  the  thing  itself  might  draw  tears  from  a  Stoic  ! — 
As  for  me,  some  twelve  or  thirteen  New  Religions,  heavy 
Packets,  most  of  them  unfranked,  having  arrived  here  from 
various  parts  of  the  world,  in  a  space  of  six  calendar  months, 
I  have  instructed  my  invaluable  friend  the  Stamped  Postman 
to  introduce  no  more  of  them,  if  the  charge  exceed  one  penny. 

Henry  of  Essex,  duelling  in  that  Thames  Island,  'near  to 
Reading  Abbey,'  had  a  religion.  But  was  it  in  virtue  of  his  see- 
ing armed  Phantasms  of  St.  Edmund  '  on  the  rim  of  the  hori- 
zon,' looking  minatory  on  him  ?  Had  that,  intrinsically,  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  religion  at  all  ?  Henry  of  Essex's  religion 
was  the  Inner  Light  or  Moral  Conscience  of  his  own  soul ; 
such  as  is  vouchsafed  still  to  all  souls  of  men  ; — which  Inner 
Light  shone  here  '  through  such  intellectual  and  other  media ' 
as  there  were  ;  producing  'Phantasms,'  Kircherean  Visual- 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


210 


Spectra,  according  to  circumstances  !  It  is  so  with  all  men. 
The  clearer  my  Inner  Light  may  shine,  through  the  less  tur- 
bid media  ;  the  fewer  Phantasms  it  may  produce, — the  gladder 
surely  shall  I  be,  and  not  the  sorrier  !  Hast  thou  reflected,  O 
serious  reader,  Advanced-Liberal  or  other,  that  the  one  end, 
essence,  use  of  all  religion  past,  present  and  to  come,  was  this 
only  :  To  keep  that  same  Moral  Conscience  or  Inner  Light  *of 
ours  alive  and  shining  ; — which  certainly  the  c  Phantasms '  and 
the  '  turbid  media '  were  not  essential  for  !  All  religion  was 
here  to  remind  us,  better  or  worse,  of  what  we  already  know 
better  or  worse,  of  the  quite  infinite  difference  there  is  be- 
tween a  Good  man  and  a  Bad ;  to  bid  us  love  infinitely  the 
one,  abhor  and  avoid  infinitely  the  other, — strive  infinitely  to 
be.  the  one,  and  not  to  be  the  other.  'All  religion  issues  in 
due  Practical  Hero-worship.'  He  that  has  a  soul  unasphyxied 
will  never  want  a  religion  ;  he  that  has  a  soul  asphyxied,  re- 
duced to  a  succedaneum  for  salt,  will  never  find  any  religion, 
though  you  rose  from  the  dead  to  preach  him  one. 

But  indeed,  when  men  and  reformers,  ask  for  c  a  religion/ 
it  is  analogous  to  their  asking,  £  What  would  you  have  us  to 
do  ?'  and  such  like.  They  fancy  that  their  religion  too  shall 
be  a  kind  of  Morrison's  Pill,  which  they  have  only  to  swallow 
once,  and  all  will  be  w^ell.  Resolutely  once  gulp  down  your 
Religion,  your  Morrison's  Pill,  you  have  it  all  plain  sailing 
now  :  you  can  follow  your  affairs,  your  no-affairs,  go  along 
money  hunting,  pleasure-hunting,  dilettanteing,  dangling,  and 
miming  and  chattering  like  a  Dead -Sea  Ape  :  your  Morrison 
will  do  your  business  for  you.  Mens  notions  are  very 
strange ! — Brother,  I  say  there  is  not,  was  not,  nor  will  ever 
be,  in  the  wide  circle  of  Nature,  any  Pill  or  Religion  of  that 
character.  Man  cannot  afford  thee  such  ;  for  the  very  gods 
it  is  impossible.  I  advise  thee  to  renounce  Morrison  ;  once 
for  all,  quit  hope  of  the  Universal  Pill.  For  body,  for  soul, 
for  individual  or  society,  there  has  not  any  such  article  been 
made.  Non  extat.  In  Created  Nature  it  is  not,  was  not,  will 
not  be.  In  the  void  imbroglios  of  Chaos  only,  and  realms  of 
Bedlam,  does  some  shadow  of  it  hover,  to  bewilder  and  be- 
mock  the  poor  inhabitants  there. 


220 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


Kituals,  Liturgies,  Greeds,  Hierarchies :  all  this  is  not  re- 
ligion ;  all  this,  were  it. dead  as  Odinism,  as  Fetishism,  does 
not  kill  religion  at  all  !  It  is  Stupidity  alone,  with  never  so 
many  rituals,  that  kills  religion.  Is  not  this  still  a  world  ? 
Spinning  Cotton  under  Arkwright  and  Adam  Smith  ;  found- 
ing Cities  by  the  Fountain  of  Juturna,  on  the  Janiculum 
Mount  ;  tilling  Canaan  under  Prophet  Samuel  and  Psalmist 
David,  man  is  ever  man  ;  the  missionary  of  Unseen  Powers ; 
and  great  and  victorious,  while  he  continues  true  to  his  mis- 
sion ;  mean,  miserable,  foiled,  and  at  last  annihilated  and 
trodden  out  of  sight  and  memory,  when  he  proves  untrue. 
Brother,  thou  art  a  Man,  I  think  ;  thou  art  not  a  mere  build- 
ing Beaver,  or  two-legged  Cotton-Spider ;  thou  hast  verily  a 
Soul  in  thee,  asphyxied  or  otherwise  !  Sooty  Manchester, — it 
too  is  built  on  the  infinite  Abysses  ;  overspanned  by  the  skyey 
Firmaments  ;  and  there  is  birth  in  it,  and  death  in  it ; — and 
it  is  every  whit  as  wonderful,  as  fearful,  unimaginable,  as  the 
oldest  Salem  or  Prophetic  City.  Go  or  stand,  in  what  time, 
in  what  place  we  will,  are  there  not  Immensities,  Eternities 
over  us,  around  us,  in  us  : 

i  Solemn  before  us, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal ; — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Grares  under  us  silent !  • 

Between  these  two  great  Silences,  the  hum  of  all  our  spinning 
cylinders,  Trades-Unions,  Anti-Corn-Law  Leagues  and  Carlton 
Clubs  goes  on.  Stupidity  itself  ought  to  pause  a  little,  and 
consider  that.  I  tell  thee,  through  all  thy  Ledgers,  Suppry- 
and-demand  Philosophies,  and  daily  most  modern  melancholy 
Business  and  Cant,  there  does  shine  the  presence  of  a  Pri- 
meval Unspeakable  ;  and  thou  wert  wise  to  recognise,  not  with 
lips  only,  that  same  ! 

The  Maker's  Laws,  whether  they  are  promulgated  in  Sinai 
Thunder,  to  the  ear  or  imagination,  or  quite  otherwise  promul- 
gated, are  the  Laws  of  God  ;  transcendent,  everlasting,  impera- 
tively demanding  obedience  from  all  men.    This,  without  any 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


221 


thunder,  or  with  never  so  much  thunder,  thou,  if  there  be  any 
soul  left  in  thee,  canst  know  of  a  truth.  The  Universe,  I  say, 
is  made  by  Law  ;  the  great  Soul  of  the  World  is  just  and  not 
unjust.  Look  thou,  if  thou  have  eyes  or  soul  left,  into  this 
great  shoreless  Incomprehensible  ;  in  the  heart  of  its  tumultu- 
ous Appearances,  Embroilments,  and  mad  Time- vortexes,  is 
there  not,  silent,  eternal,  an  All-just,  an  All-beautiful  ;  sole 
Beality  and  ultimate  controlling  Power  of  the  whole  ?  This  is 
not  a  figure  of  speech  ;  this  is  a  fa'ct.  The  fact  of  Gravitation 
known  to  all  animals,  is  not  surer  than  this  inner  Fact,  which 
may  be  known  to  all  men.  He  who  knows  this,  it  will  sink, 
silent,  awful,  unspeakable,  into  his  heart.  He  will  say  with 
Faust :  ' '  Who  dare  name  Him  ?  "  Most  rituals  or  6  namings  ' 
he  will  fall  in  with  at  present,  are  like  to  be  '  namings  ' — which 
shall  be  nameless !  In  silence,  in  the  Eternal  Temple,  let  him 
worship,  if  there  be  no  fit  word.  Such  knowledge,  the  crown 
of  his  whole  spiritual  being,  the  life  of  his  life,  let  him  keep 
and  sacredly  walk  by.  He  has  a  religion.  Hourly  and  daily, 
for  himself  and  for  the  whole  world,  a  faithful,  unspoken,  but 
not  ineffectual  prayer  rises,  "  Thy  will  be  done."  His  whole 
work  on  Earth  is  an  emblematic  spoken  or  acted  prayer,  Be 
the  will  of  God  done  on  Earth, — not  the  Devil's  will,  or  any  of 
the  Devil's  servants'  wills  !  He  has  a  religion,  this  man  ;  an 
everlasting  Loadstar  that  beams  the  brighter  in  the  Heavens, 
the  darker  here  on  Earth  grows  the  night  around  him.  Thou, 
if  thou  know  not  this,  what  are  all  rituals,  liturgies,  mytholo- 
gies, mass-chantings,  turnings  of  the  rotatory  calabash  ?  They 
are  as  nothing  ;  in  a  good  many  respects  they  are  as  less.  Di- 
vorced from  this,  getting  half-divorced  from  this,  they  are  a 
thing  to  fill  one  with  a  kind  of  horror  ;  with  a  sacred  inex- 
pressible pity  and  fear.  The  most  tragical  thing  a  human  eye 
can  look  on.  It  was  said  to  the  Prophet,  "Behold,  I  will  shew 
thee  worse  things  than  these  :  women  weeping  to  Thammuz.'' 
That  was  the  acme  of  the  Prophet's  vision — then  as  now. 

Rituals,  Liturgies,  Credos,  Sinai  Thunder  :  I  know  more  or 
less  the  history  of  these  ;  the  rise,  progress,  decline  and  fall 
of  these.  Can  thunder  from  all  the  thirty-two  azimuths,  re- 
peated daily  for  centuries  of  years,  make  God's  Laws  more 


222 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


godlike  to  me  ?  Brother,  No.  Perhaps  I  am  grown  to  be  a  man 
now  ;  and  do  not  need  the  thunder  and  the  terror  any  longer  I 
Perhaps  I  am  above  being  frightened  ;  perhaps  it  is  not  Fear, 
but  Reverence  alone,  that  shall  now  lead  me  ! — Revelations, 
Inspirations  ?  Yes  :  and  thy  own  god-creaied  Soul ;  dost  thou 
not  call  that  a  '  revelation  ?  '  Who  made  Thee  ?  Where  didst 
Thou  come  from  ?  The  Voice  of  Eternity,  if  thou  be  not  a 
blasphemer  and  poor  asphyxied  mute,  speaks  with  that 'tongue 
of  thine  !  Thou  art  the  latest  Birth  of  Nature  ;  it  is  6  the  In- 
spiration of  the  Almighty '  that  giveth  thee  understanding! 
My  brother,  my  brother  ! — 

Under  baleful  Atheisms,  Mammonisms,  Joe-Manton  Dilet- 
tantisms, with  their  appropriate  Cants  and  Idolisms,  and  what- 
soever scandalous  rubbish  obscures  and  all  but  extinguishes 
the  soul  of  man, — religion  now  is  ;  its  Laws,  wrritten  if  not  on 
stone  tables,  yet  on  the  Azure  of  Infinitude,  in  the  inner  heart 
of  God's  Creation,  certain  as  Life,  certain  as  Death  !  I  say  the 
Laws  are  there,  and  thou  shalt  not  disobey  them.  It  were 
better  for  thee  not.  Better  a  hundred  deaths  than  yes.  Ter- 
rible '  penalties  '  withal,  if  thou  still  need  '  penalties/  are  there 
for  disobeying.  Dost  thou  observe,  O  redtape  Politician,  that 
fiery  infernal  Phenomenon,  which  men  name  French  Revolu- 
tion, sailing  unlooked-for,  unbidden  ;  through  thy  inane  Pro- 
tocol Dominion  : — far-seen,  with  splendour  not  of  Heaven  ?  Ten 
centuries  will  see  it.  There  wrere  Tanneries  at  Meudon  for 
human  skins.  And  Hell,  very  truly  Hell,  had  power  over 
God's  upper  Earth  for  a  season.  The  crudest  Portent  that 
has  risen  into  created  Space  these  ten  centuries :  let  us  hail 
it,  with  awestruck  repentant  hearts,  as  the  voice  once  more  of 
a  God,  though  of  one  in  wrath.  Blessed  be  the  God's  voice  ; 
for  it  is  true,  and  Falsehoods  have  to  cease  before  it !  But 
for  that  same  preternatural  quasi-infernal  Portent,  one  could 
not  know  what  to  make  of  this  wretched  world,  in  these  days? 
at  all.  The  deplorablest  quack-ridden,  and  now  hunger-rid- 
den, downtrodden  Despicability  and  Flebile  Ludibrium,  of  red- 
tape  Protocols,  rotatory  Calabashes,  Poor-Law  Bastilles :  who 
is  there  that  could  think  of  its  being  fated  to  continue  ? — 

Penalties  enough,  my  brother  !    This  penalty  inclusive  of 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


223 


all :  Eternal  Death  to  thy  own  hapless  Self,  if  thou  heed  no 
other.  Eternal  Death,  I  say, — with  many  meanings  old  and 
new,  of  which  let  this  single  one  suffice  us  here  :  The  eternal 
impossibility  for  thee  to  be  aught  but  a  Chimera,  and  swift- 
vanishing  deceptive  Phantasm,  in  God's  Creation  ; — swift- 
vanishing,  never  to  reappear  :  why  should  it  reappear  !  Thou 
hadst  one  chance,  thou  wilt  never  have  another.  Everlasting- 
ages  will  roll  on,  and  no  other  be  given  thee.  The  foolishest 
articulate -speaking  soul  now  extant,  may  not  he  say  to  him- 
self :  "A  whole  Eternity  I  waited  to  be  born;  and  now  I 
have  a  whole  Eternity  waiting  to  see  what  I  will  do  when 
born  !  "  This  is  not  Theology,  this  is  ilrithmetic.  And  thou 
but  half-discernest  this  ;  thou  but  half  believest  it  ?  Alas,  on 
the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea  on  Sabbath  there  goes  on  a  Trag- 
edy !— 

But  we  will  leave  this  of  c  Religion  ; '  of  which,  to  say  truth, 
it  is  chiefly  profitable  in  these  unspeakable  days  to  keep  si- 
lence. Thou  needest  no  £  New  Religion  ; '  nor  art  thou  like 
to  get  any.  Thou  hast  already  more  '  religion  '  than  thou 
makest  use  of.  This  day,  thou  knowest  ten  commanded 
duties,  seest  in  thy  mind  ten  things  which  should  be  done, 
for  one  that  thou  doest !  Do  one  of  them  ;  this  of  itself  will 
shew  thee  ten  others  which  can  and  shall  be  done.  "  But  my 
future  fate  ? "  Yes,  thy  future  fate,  indeed  ?  Thy  future 
fate,  while  thou  makest  it  the  chief  question,  seems  to  me — 
extremely  questionable  !  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  good. 
Norse  Odin,  immemorial  centuries  ago,  did  not  he,  though  a 
poor  Heathen,  in  the  dawn  of  Time,  teach  us  that  for  the 
Dastard  there  was,  and  could  be,  no  good  fate  ;  no  harbour 
anywhere,  save  down  with  Hela,  in  the  pool  of  Night !  Das- 
tards, Knaves,  are  they  that  lust  for  Pleasure,  that  tremble 
at  Pain.  For  this  world  and  for  the  next,  Dastards  are  a 
class  of  creatures  made  to  be  '  arrested  : '  they  are  good  for 
nothing  else,  can  look  for  nothing  else.  A  greater  than  Odin 
has  been  here.  A  greater  than  Odin  has  taught  us — not  a 
greater  Dastardism,  I  hope  !  My  brother,  thou  must  pray 
for  a  soul ;  struggle,  as  with  life-and-death  energy,  to  get 
back  thy  soul!    Know  that  '  religion  '  is  no  Morrison's  Pill 


224 


THE  MODERN  WORKER 


from  without,  but  a  reawakening  of  thy  own  Self  from 
within  : — and,  above  all,  leave  me  alone  of  thy  '  religions ' 
and  '  new  religions here  and  elsewhere!  I  am  weary  of 
this  sick  croaking  for  a  Morrison's-Pill  religion  ;  tor  any  and 
for  every  such.  I  want  none  such  ;  and  discern  all  such  to  be 
impossible.  The  resuscitation  of  old  liturgies  fallen  dead  ; 
much  more,  the  manufacture  of  new  liturgies  that  will  never 
be  alive  :  how  hopeless  !  Stylitisms,  eremite  fanaticisms  and 
fakeerisms;  spasmodic  agonistic  posture-makings,  and  nar- 
row, cramped,  morbid,  if  forever  noble  wrestlings  :  all  this  is 
not  a  thing  desirable  to  me.  It  is  a  thing  the  world  has 
done  once, — when  its  beard  was  not  grown  as  now  ! 

And  yet  there  is,  at  worst,  one  Liturgy  which  does  remain 
forever  unexceptionable  :  that  of  Praying  (as  the  old  Monks 
did  withal)  by  Working.  And  indeed  the  Prayer  which  ac- 
complished itself  in  special  chapels  at  stated  hours,  and  went 
not  with  a  man,  rising  up  from  all  his  Work  and  Action,  at 
all  moments  sanctifying  the  same, — what  was  it 'ever  good 
for  ?  '  Work  is  Worship  : '  yes,  in  a  highly  considerable 
sense, — which,  in  the  present  state  of  all  'worship,'  who  is 
there  that  can  unfold  !  He  that  understands  it  well,  under- 
stands the  Prophecy  of  the  whole  Future  ;  the  last  Evangel, 
which  has  included  all  others.  Its  cathedral  the  Dome  of 
Immensity,— hast  thou  seen  it?  coped  with  the  star-galaxies  ; 
paved  with  the  green  mosaic  of  land  and  ocean  ;  and  for 
altar,  verily,  the  Star-throne  of  the  Eternal !  Its  litany  and 
psalmody  th<3  noble  acts,  the  heroic  work  and  suffering,  and 
true  heart-utterance  of  all  the  Valiant  of  the  Sons  of  Men. 
Its  choir-music  the  ancient  Winds  and  Oceans,  and  deep- 
toned,  inarticulate,  but  most  speaking  voices  of  Destiny  and 
History, — supernal  ever  as  of  old.  Between  two  great  Si- 
lences : 

4  Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent.' 

Between  which  two  great  Silences,  do  not,  as  we  said,  all  hu- 
man Noises,  in  the  naturalest  times,  most  £>reternaturally 
march  and  roll  ? — 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


225 


I  will  insert  this  also,  in  a  lower  strain,  from  Sauerteig's 
Esthetische  Spring wiirzel.  '  Worship  ?  '  says  he  :  '  Before  that 
1  inane  tumult  of  Hearsay  filled  men's  heads,  while  the  world 
'  lay  yet  silent,  and  the  heart  true  and  open,  many  things 
c  were  Worship  !  To  the  primeval  man  whatsoever  good  came, 
'  descended  on  him  (as,  in  mere  fact,  it  ever  does)  direct  from 
'  God  ;  whatsoever  duty  lay  visible  for  him,  this  a  Supreme 
c  God  had  prescribed.  To  the  present  hour  I  ask  thee,  Who 
'  else  ?  For  the  primeval  man,  in  whom  dwelt  Thought,  this 
'  Universe  was  all  a  Temple  ;  Life  everywhere  a  Worship. 

c  What  Worship,  for  example,  is  there  not  in  mere  Wash- 
'  ing  !  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  moral  things  a  man,  in  com- 
£  mon  cases,  has  it  in  his  power  to  do.  Strip  thyself,  go  into 
£  the  bath,  or  were  it  into  the  limpid  pool  and  running  brook, 
c  and  there  wash  and  be  clean  ;  thou  wilt  step  out  again  a 
c  purer  and  a  better  man.  This  consciousness  of  perfect  outer 
'  pureness,  that  to  thy  skin  there  now  adheres  no  foreign 
'  sjDeck  of  imperfection,  how  it  radiates  in  on  thee,  with  cun- 
e  ning  symbolic  influences,  to  thy  very  soul !  Thou  hast  an 
c  increase  of  tendency  towards  all  good  things  whatsoever. 
'  The  oldest  Eastern  Sages,  with  joy  and  holy  gratitude,  had 
c  felt  it  so, — and  that  it  was  the  Maker's  gift  and  will.  Whose 
■  else  is  it  ?  It  remains  a  religious  duty,  from  oldest  times, 
'  in  the  East. — Nor  could  Herr  Professor  Strauss,  when  I  put 
'  the  question,  deny  that  for  us  at  present  it  is  still  such  here 
6  in  the.  West!  To  that  dingy  fuliginous  Operative,  emerg- 
'  ing  from  his  soot-mill,  what  is  the  first  duty  I  will  pre- 
'  scribe,  and  offer  help  towards  ?  That  he  clean  the  skin  of  him. 
£  Can  he  pray,  by  any  ascertained  method  ?  One  knows  not 
6  entirely  : — but  with  soap  and  a  sufficiency  of  water,  he  can 
6  wash.  Even  the  dull  English  feel  something  of  this  ;  they 
c  have  a  saying,  "  Cleanliness  is  near  of  kin  to  Godliness  :  " — 
e  yet  never,  in  any  country,  saw  I  operative  men  worse  washed, 
c  and,  in  a  climate  drenched  with  the  softest  cloud-water, 
'  such  a  scarcity  of  baths  ! ' — Alas,  Sauerteig,  our  '  operative 
men  '  are  at  present  short  even  of  potatoes  :  what  '  dutj  '  can 
you  prescribe  to  them  ! 

Or  let  us  give  a  glance  at  China.  Our  new  friend,  the  Em- 
15 


22G 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


peror  there,  is  Pontiff  of  three  hundred  million  men  ;  who 
do  all  live  and  work,  these  many  centuries  now  ;  authentically 
patronised  by  Heaven  so  far  ;  and  therefore  must  have  some 
'  religion  -  of  a  kind.  This  Emperor-Pontiff  has,  in  fact,  a  re- 
ligious belief  of  certain  Laws  of  Heaven  ;  observes,  with  a 
religious  rigour,  his  'three  thousand  punctualities/  given  out 
by  men  of  insight,  some  sixty  generations  since,  as  a  legible 
transcript  of  the  same, — the  Heavens  do  seem  to  say,  not 
totally  an  incorrect  one.  He  has  not  much  of  a  ritual,  this 
Pontiff-Emperor  ;  believes,  it  is  likest?  with  the  old  Monks, 
that  '  Labour  is  Worship.'  His  most  public  Act  of  Worship, 
it  appears,  is  the  drawing  solemnly  at  a  certain  day,  on  the 
green  bosom  of  our  Mother  Earth,  when  the  Heavens,  after 
dead  black  winter,  have  again  with  their  vernal  radiances  awak- 
ened her,  a  distinct  red  Furrow  with  the  Plough, — signal 
that  all  the  Ploughs  of  China  are  to  begin  ploughing  and 
worshipping  !  It  is  notable  enough.  He,  in  sight  of  the  Seen 
and  Unseen  Powers,  draws  his  distinct  red  Furrow  there  ; 
saying,  and  praying,  in  mute  symbolism,  so  many  most  elo- 
quent things ! 

If  you  ask  this  Pontiff,  "Who  made  him?  What  is  to  be- 
come of  him  and  us  ? "  he  maintains  a  dignified  reserve  ; 
waves  his  hand  and  pontiff-eyes  over  the  unfathomable  deep 
of  Heaven,  the  6  Tsien/  the  azure  kingdoms  of  Infinitude  ;  as 
if  asking,  "  Is  it  doubtful  that  we  are  right  well  made  ?  Can 
aught  that  is  wrong  become  of  us  ?  " — He  and  his  three  hun- 
dred millions  (it  is  their  chief  '  punctuality  ')  visit  yearly  the 
Tombs  of  their  Fathers  ;  each  man  the  Tomb  of  his  Father 
and  his  Mother  ;  alone  there,  in  silence,  with  what  of  £  worship ' 
or  of  other  thought  there  may  be,  pauses  solemnly  each  man  ; 
the  divine  Skies  all  silent  over  him  ;  the  divine  Graves,  and 
this  divinest  Grave,  all  silent  under  him  ;  the  pulsing  of  his 
own  soul,  if  he  have  any  soul,  alone  audible.  Truly  it  may 
be  a  kind  of  worship !  Truly,  if  a  man  cannot  get  some 
glimpse  into  the  Eternities,  looking  through  this  portal, — ■ 
through  what  other  need  he  try  it  ? 

Our  friend  the  Pontiff-Emperor  permits  cheerfully,  though 
with  contempt,  all  manner  of  Buddists,  Bonzes,  Talapoins  and 


MORRISON  AG AIK. 


227 


such  like,  to  "build  brick  Temples,  on  the  voluntary  principle  ; 
to  worship  with  what  of  chantings,  paper-lanterns  and  tumult- 
uous brayings,  pleases  them  ;  and  make  night  hideous,  since 
they  find  some  comfort  in  so  doing.  Cheerf Lilly,  though  with 
contempt.  He  is  a  wiser  Pontiff  than  many  persons  think  ! 
He  is  as  yet  the  one  Chief  Potentate  or  Priest  in  this  Earth 
who  has  made  a  distinct  systematic  attempt  at  what  we  call 
the  ultimate  result  of  all  religion,  '  Practical  Hero-worship  : ' 
he  does  incessantly,  with  true  anxiety,  in  such  wray  as  he  can, 
search  and  sift  (it  would  appear)  his  whole  enormous  popula- 
tion for  the  "Wisest  born  among  them  ;  by  which  Wisest,  as 
by  born  Kings,  these  three  hundred  million  men  are  gov- 
erned. The  Heavens,  to  a  certain  extent,  do  appear  to  coun- 
tenance him.  These  three  hundred  millions  actually  make 
porcelain,  souchong  tea,  with  innumerable  other  things  ;  and 
fight,  under  Heaven's  flag,  against  Necessity  ; — and  have  fewer 
Seven-Years  Wars,  Thirty- Years  Wars,  French  Kevolution 
Wars,  and  infernal  fightings  w7ith  each  other,  than  certain 
millions  elsewhere  have ! 

Nay,  in  our  poor  distracted  Europe  itself,  in  these  newest 
times,  have  there  not  religious  voices  risen, — with  a  religion  new 
and  yet  the  oldest ;  entirely  indisputable  to  all  hearts  of  men  ? 
Some  I  do  know,  who  did  not  call  or  think  themselves  '  Proph- 
ets,' far  enough  from  that ;  but  who  were,  in  very  truth,  me- 
lodious Voices  from  the  eternal  Heart  of  Nature  once  again  ; 
souls  forever  venerable  to  all  that  have  a  soul,  A  French 
Revolution  is  one  phenomenon  ;  as  complement  and  spiritual 
exponent  thereof,  a  Poet  Goethe  and  German  Literature  is  to 
me  another.  The  old  Secular  or  Practical  World,  so  to  speak, 
having  gone  up  in  fire,  is  not  here  the  prophecy  and  dawn  of 
a  new  Spiritual  World,  parent  of  far  nobler,  wider,  new  Prac- 
tical Worlds  ?  A  life  of  Antique  devoutness,  Antique  veracity 
and  heroism,  has  again  become  possible,  is  again  seen  actual 
there,  for  the  most  modern  man.  A  phenomenon,  as  quiet  as 
it  is,  comparable  for  greatness  to  no  other  !  *  The  great  event 
'  for  the  world  is,  now  as  always,  the  arrival  in  it  of  a  new 
£  Wise  Man.'    Touches  there  are,  be  the  Heavens  ever  thanked, 


228 


THE  MODERN  WORKER. 


of  new  Sphere-melody  ;  audible  once  more,  in  the  infinite 
jargoning  discords  and  poor  scrannel-pipings  of  the  thing 
called  Literature  : — priceless  there,  as  the  voice  of  new  Heav- 
enly Psalms  !  Literature,  like  the  old  Prayer-Collections  of 
the  first  centuries,  were  it  'well  selected  from  and  burnt,' 
contains  precious  things.  For  Literature,  with  all  its  print- 
ing-presses, puffing-engines  and  shoreless  deafening  triviality, 
is  yet  'the  Thought  of  Thinking  Souls/  A  sacred  'religion,' 
if  you  like  the  name,  does  live  in  the  heart  of  that  strange 
froth-ocean,  not  wholly  froth,  which  we  call  Literature ;  and 
will  more  and  more  disclose  itself  therefrom  ; — not  now  as 
scorching  Fire  :  the  red  smoky  scorching  Fire  has  purified 
itself  into  white  sunny  Light.  Is  not  Light  grander  than 
Fire  ?    It  is  the  same  element  in  a  state  of  purity. 

My  ingenuous  readers,  we  will  march  out  of  this  Third 
Book  with  a  rhythmic  word  of  Goethe's  on  our  lips  ;  a  word 
which  perhaps  has  already  sung  itself,  in  dark  hours  and  in 
bright,  through  many  a  heart.  To  me,  finding  it  devout  yet 
wholly  credible  and  veritable,  full  of  piety  yet  free  of  cant ; 
to  me  joyfully  finding  much  in  it,  and  joyfully  missing  so 
much  in  it,  this  little  snatch  of  music,  by  the  greatest  Ger- 
man Man,  sounds  like  a  stanza  in  the  grand  Road- Song  and 
Marching-Song  of  our  great  Teutonic  Kindred,  wending,  wend- 
ing, valiant  and  victorious,  through  the  undiscovered  Deeps 
of  Time  !    He  calls  it  Mason-Lodge, — not  Psalm  or  Hymn  : 

*  The  Mason's  ways  are 
A  type  of  Existence, 
And  Ms  persistance 
Is  as  the  days  are 
Of  men  in  this  world. 

The  Fnture  hides  in  it 
Gladness  and  sorrow  ; 
We  press  still  thorow, 
Nought  that  abides  in  it 
Daunting  us, — onward. 

And  solemn  before  us, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal : — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent. 


MORRISON  AGAIN. 


229 


While  earnest  thou  gazest, 
Comes  boding  of  terror, 
Comes  phantasm  and  error, 
Perplexes  the  bravest 
With  doubt  and  misgiving. 

But  heard  are  the  Voices, — 
Heard  are  the  Sages, 
The  Worlds  and  the  Ages  : 
"  Choose  well,  your  choice  is 
Brief  and  yet  endless: 

Here  eyes  do  regard  you, 
In  Eternity's  stillness  ; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  you: 
Work,  and  despair  not?S5> 


BOOK  IY. 


HOROSCOPE. 


CHAPTER  L 

AEISTOCRACIES. 

To  predict  the  Future,  to  manage  the  Present,  would  not 
be  so  impossible,  had  not  the  Past  been  so  sacrilegiously  mis- 
handled ;  effaced,  and  what  is  worse,  defaced  I  The  Past  can- 
not be  seen  ;  the  Past,  looked  at  through  the  medium  of 
6  Philosophical  History  '  in  these  times,  cannot  even  be  not 
seen  :  it  is  misseen  ;  affirmed  to  have  existed, — and  to  have 
been  a  godless  Impossibility.  Your  Norman  Conquerors,  true 
royal  souls,  crowned  kings  as  such,  were  vulturous  irrational 
tyrants  :  your  Becket  was  a  noisy  egoist  and  hypocrite  ;  get- 
ting his  brains  spilt  on  the  floor  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  to 
secure  the  main  chance, — somewhat  uncertain  how  !  '  Policy, 
Fanaticism  ; '  or  say  '  Enthusiasm/  even  '  honest  Enthusiasm/ 
— ah,  yes,  of  course  : 

'  The  Dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 
Went  mad,  and  bit  the  Man ! ' 

For  in  truth,  the  eye  sees  in  all  things  '  what  it  brought 
with  it  the  means  of  seeing.'  A  godless  century,  looking  back 
on  centuries  that  were  godly,  produces  portraitures  more 
miraculous  than  any  other.  All  was  inane  discord  in  the 
Past ;  brute  Force  bore  rule  everywhere  ;  Stupidity,  savage 
Unreason,  titter  for  Bedlam  than  for  a  human  World  !  Whereby 
indeed  it  become  sufficiently  natural  that  the  like  qualities,  in 
new  sleeker  habiliments,  should  continue  in  our  time  to  rule, 


232 


HOROSCOPE. 


Millions  enchanted  in  Bastille  Workhouses  ;  Irish  Widows 
proving  their  relationship  by  typhus-fever  :  what  would  you 
have  ?  It  was  ever  so,  or  worse.  Man's  History,  was  it  not 
always  even  this  :  The  cookery  and  eating  up  of  imbecile 
Dupedom  by  successful  Quackhood  ;  the  battle,  with  various 
weapons,  of  vulturous  Quack  and  Tyrant  against  vulturous 
Tyrant  and  Quack?  No  God  was  in  the  Past  Time  ;  nothing 
but  Mechanisms  and  Chaotic  Brute-gods  : — how  shall  the  poor 
'Philosophic  Historian,'  to  whom  his  own  century  is  all  god- 
less, see  any  God  in  other  centuries? 

Men  believe  in  Bibles,  and  disbelieve  in  them  :  but  of  all 
Bibles  the  frightfulest  to  disbelieve  in  is  this  e  Bible  of  Univer- 
sal History.'  This  is  the  Eternal  Bible  and  God's-Book, 
c  which  every  born  man,'  till  once  the  soul  and  eyesight  are 
extinguished  in  him,  c  can  and  must,  with  his  own  eyes,  see 
the  God's-Finger  writing  !  '  To  discredit  this,  is  an  infidelity 
like  no  other.  Such  infidelity  you  would  punish,  if  not  by 
fire  and  faggot,  which  are  difficult  to  manage  in  our  times,  yet 
by  the  most  peremptory  order,  To  hold  its  peace  till  it  got 
something  wiser  to  say.  Why  should  the  blessed  Silence  be 
broken  into  noises,  to  communicate  only  the  like  of  this  ?  If 
the  Past  have  no  God's-Reason  in  it,  nothing  but  Devil's- 
Unreason,  let  the  Past  be  eternally  forgotten  :  mention  it  no 
more  ; — we  whose  ancestors  were  all  hanged,  why  should  we 
talk  of  ropes ! 

It  is,  in  brief,  not  true  that  men  ever  lived  by  Delirium, 
Hypocrisy,  Injustice,  or  any  form  of  Unreason,  since  they 
came  to  inhabit  this  Planet.  It  is  not  true  that  they  ever  did, 
or  ever  will,  live  except  by  the  reverse  of  these.  Men  will 
again  be  taught  this.  Their  acted  History  wTi!l  then  again 
be  a  Heroism  ;  their  written  History,  what  it  once  was,  an 
Epic.  Nay,  forever  it  is  either  such ;  or  else  it  virtually  is 
• — Nothing.  Were  it  written  in  a  thousand  volumes,  the  Un- 
heroic  of  such  volumes  hastens  incessantly  to  be  forgotten  ; 
the  net  content  of  an  Alexandrian  Library  of  Unheroics  is, 
and  will  ultimately  shew  itself  to  be,  zero.  What  man  is  in- 
terested to  remember  it ;  have  not  all  men,  at  all  times,  the 
liveliest  interest  to  forget  it  ? — '  Revelations/  if  not  celestial, 


ARISTOCRACIES. 


233 


then  infernal,  will  teach  us  that  God  is  ;  we  shall  then,  ii 
needful,  discern  without  difficulty  that  He  has  always  been  ! 
The  Dryasdust  Philosophising  and  enlightened  Scepticisms  of 
the  Eighteenth  Century,  historical  and  other,  will  have  to  sur- 
vive for  a  while  with  the  Physiologists,  as  a  memorable  Night- 
mare-Dream. All  this  haggard  epoch,  with  its  ghastly  Doc- 
trines, and  death's-head  Philosophies  '  teaching  by  example ' 
or  otherwise,  will  one  day  have  become,  what  to  our  Moslem 
friends  their  godless  ages  are,  '  the  Period  of  Ignorance.' 

If  the  convulsive  struggles  of  the  last  Half-Century  have 
taught  poor  struggling  convulsed  Europe  any  truth,  it  may 
perhaps  be  this  as  the  essence  of  innumerable  others  :  That 
Europe  requires  a  real  Aristocracy,  a  real  Priesthood,  or  it 
cannot  continue  to  exist.  Huge  French  Revolutions,  Na- 
poleonisms,  then  Bourbonisms  with  their  corollary  of  Three 
Days,  finishing  in  very  unfinal  Louis-Philippisms  :  all  this 
ought  to  be  didactic  !  All  this  may  have  taught  us,  That 
False  Aristocracies,  are  insupportable  ;  that  No-Aristocracies, 
Liberty-and-Equalities  are  impossible ;  that  True  Aristocracies 
are  at  olice  indispensable  and  not  easily  attained. 

Aristocracy  and  Priesthood,  a  Governing  Class  and  a  Teach- 
ing Class  :  these  two,  sometimes  separate,  and  endeavouring 
to  harmonise  themselves,  sometimes  conjoined  as  one,  and  the 
King  a  Pontiff-King : — there  did  no  Society  exist  without  these 
two  vital  elements,  there  will  none  exist.  It  lies  in  the  very 
nature  of  man  :  you  will  visit  no  remotest  village  in  the  most 
republican  country  of  the  wTorld,  where  virtually  or  actually  you 
do  not  find  these  two  powers  at  work.  Man,  little  as  he  may 
suppose  it,  is  necessitated  to  obey  superiors.  He  is  a  social 
being  in  virtue  of  this  necessity  ;  nay  he  could  not  be  gregari- 
ous otherwise.  He  obeys  those  whom  he  esteems  better  than 
himself,  wTiser,  braver  ;  and  will  forever  obey  such  ;  and  even 
be  ready  and  delighted  to  do  it. 

The  Wiser,  Braver  :  these,  a  Virtual  Aristocracy  everywhere 
and  everywhen,  do  in  all  Societies  that  reach  any  articulate 
shape,  develop  themselves  into  a  ruling  class,  an  Actual  Aris- 
tocracy, with  settled  modes  of  operating,  what  are  called  laws 


234 


HOROSCOPE. 


and  even  private-laws  or  privileges,  and  so  forth  ;  very  notable 
to  look  upon  in  this  world. — Aristocracy  and  Priesthood,  we 
say,  are  sometimes  united.  Eor  indeed  the  Wiser  and  the 
Braver  are  properly  but  one  class  :  no  wise  man  but  needed 
first  of  all  to  be  a  brave  man,  or  he  never  had  been  wise.  The 
noble  Priest  was  always  a  noble  Aristos  to  begin  with,  and 
something  more  to  end  with.  Your  Luther,  your  Knox,  your 
Anselm,  Backet,  Abbot  Samson,  Samuel  Johnson,  if  they  had 
not  been  brave  enough,  by  what  possibility  could  they  ever 
have  been  wise  ? — If,  from  accident  or  forethought,  this  your 
Actual  Aristocracy  have  got  discriminated  into  Two  Classes, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  the  Priest  Class  is  the  more  digni- 
fied ;  supreme  over  the  other,  as  governing  head  is  over  active 
hand.  And  yet  in  practice  again,  it  is  likeliest  the  reverse 
will  be  found  arranged  ;  a  sign  that  the  arrangement  is  already 
vitiated  ;  that  a  split  is  introduced  into  it,  which  will  widen 
and  widen  till  the  whole  be  rent  asunder. 

In  England,  in  Europe  generally,  we  may  say  that  these  two 
Virtualities  have  unfolded  themselves  into  Actualities,  in  by 
far  the  noblest  and  richest  manner  any  region  of  the  world 
ever  saw.  A  Spiritual  Guideship,  a  practical  Governorship, 
fruit  of  the  grand  conscious  endeavours,  say  rather  of  the  im- 
measurable unconscious  instincts  and  necessities  of  men,  have 
established  themselves  ;  very  strange  to  behold.  Everywhere, 
while  so  much  has  been  forgotten,  you  find  the  King's  Palace, 
and  the  Viceking's  Castle,  Mansion,  Manorhouse  ;  till  there  is 
not  an  inch  of  ground  from  sea  to  sea  but  has  both  its  King 
and  Viceking,  long  due  series  of  Vicekings,  its  Squire,  Earl, 
Duke  or  whatever  the  title  of  him — to  whom  you  have  given 
the  land  that  he  may  govern  you  in  it. 

More  touching  still,  there  is  not  a  hamlet  where  poor  peas- 
ants congregate,  but  by  one  means  and  another  a  Church-Ap- 
paratus has  been  got  together,  — roofed  edifice,  with  revenues 
and  belfries  ;  pulpit,  reading-desk,  with  Books  and  Methods  : 
possibility,  in  short,  and  strict  prescription,  That  a  man  stand 
there  and  speak  of  spiritual  things  to  men.  It  is  beautiful ; — 
even  in  its  great  obscuration  and  decadence,  it  is  among  the 
beautifulest,  most  touching  objects  one  sees  on  the  Earth. 


ARISTOCRACIES. 


235 


This  Speaking  Man  has  indeed,  in  these  times,  wandered  terri- 
bly from  the  point  ;  has,  alas,  as  it  were,  totally  lost  sight  of 
the  point  :  yet,  at  bottom,  whom  have  we  to  compare  with 
him?  Of  all  public  functionaries  boarded  and  lodged  on  the 
Industry  of  Modern  Europe,  is  there  one  worthier  of  the  board 
he  has  ?  A  man  even  professing,  and  never  so  languidly  mak- 
ing still  some  endeavour,  to  save  the  souls  of  men  :  contrast 
him  with  a  man  professing  to  do  little  but  shoot  the  par- 
tridges of  men  !  I  wish  he  could  find  the  point  again,  this 
Speaking  One :  and  stick  to  it  with  tenacity,  with  deadly  en- 
ergy ;  for  there  is  need  of  him  yet !  The  Speaking  Function, 
this  of  Truth  coming  to  us  with  a  living  voice,  nay  in  a  living 
shape,  and  as  a  concrete  practical  exemplar  :  this,  with  all 
our  Writing  and  Printing  Functions,  has  a  perennial  place. 
Could  he  but  find  the  point  again, — take  the  old  spectacles 
off  his  nose,  and  looking  up  discover,  almost  in  contact  with 
him,  what  the  real  Satanas,  and  soul-devouring,  world-devour- 
ing Devil,  now  is  !  Original  Sin  and  such  like  are  bad  enough, 
I  doubt  not :  but  distilled  Gin,  dark  Ignorance,  Stupidity, 
dark  Corn-Law,  Bastille  and  Company,  what  are  they !  Will 
he  discover  our  new  real  Satan,  whom  he  has  to  fight ;  or 
go  on  droning  through  his  eld  nose-spectacles  about  old  ex- 
tinct Satans  ;  and  never  see  the  real  one,  till  he  feel  him  at 
his  own  throat  and  ours  ?  That  is  a  question,  for  the  world  ! 
Let  us  not  intermeddle  with  it  here. 

Sorrowful,  phantasmal  as  this  same  Double  Aristocracy  of 
Teachers  and  Governors  now  looks,  it  is  worth  all  men's  while 
to  know  that  the  purport  of  it  is  and  remains  noble  and  most 
real.  Dryasdust,  looking  merely  at  the  surface,  is  greatly  in 
error  as  to  those  ancient  Kings.  "William  Conqueror,  William 
Eufus  or  Redbeard,  Stephen  Curthose  himself,  much  more 
Henry  Beauclerc  and  our  brave  Plantagenet  Henry  :  the  life  of 
these  men  was  not  a  vulturous  Fighting  ;  it  was  a  valorous 
Governing, — to  which  occasionally  Fighting  did,  and  alas  must 
yet,  though  far  seldomer  now,  superadd  itself  as  an  accident, 
a  distressing  impedimental  adjunct.  The  fighting  too  was  in- 
dispensable, for  ascertaining  who  had  the  might  over  whom, 
the  right  over  whom.    By  muchjiard  fighting,  as  we  once  said, 


236 


IIOROSCOPE. 


'  the  unrealities,  beaten  into  dust,  flew  gradually  off ; '  and  left 
the  plain  reality  and  fact,  "  Thou  stronger  than  I ;  thou  wiser 
than  I ;  thou  king,  and  subject  1/  in  a  somewhat  clearer  con- 
dition. 

Truly  we  cannot  enough  admire,  in  those  Abbot-Samson  and 
William-Conqueror  times,  the  arrangement  they  had  made  of 
their  Governing  Classes.  Highly  interesting  to  observe  how 
the  sincere  insight,  on  their  part,  into  what  did,  of  primary 
necessity,  behove  to  be  accomplished,  had  led  them  to  the  way 
of  accomplishing  it,  and  in  the  course  of  time  to  get  it  accom- 
plished !  No  imaginary  Aristocracy  would  serve  their  turn  ; 
and  accordingly  they  attained  a  real  one.  The  Bravest  men, 
who,  it  is  ever  to  be  repeated  and  remembered,  are  also  on 
the  whole  the  Wisest,  Strongest,  everyway  Best,  had  here, 
with  a  respectable  degree  of  accuracy,  been  got  selected  ; 
seated  each  on  his  piece  of  territory,  which  was  lent  him,  then 
gradually  given  him,  that  he  might  govern  it.  These  Vice- 
kings,  each  on  his  portion  of  the  common  soil  of  England,  with 
a  Head  King  over  all,  were  a  '  Virtuality  perfected  into  an  Ac- 
tuality '  really  to  an  astonishing  extent. 

For* those  were  rugged  stalwart  ag:es  ;  full  of  earnestness, 
of  a  rude  God's-truth  : — nay,  at  any  rate,  their  quilting  was  so 
unspeakably  thinner  than  ours  ;  Fact  came  swiftly  on  them,  if 
at  any  time  they  had  yielded  to  Phantasm  !  '  The  Knaves  and 
Dastards '  had  to  be  c  arrested  '  in  some  measure  ;  or  the  world, 
almost  within  year  and  day,  found  that  it  could  not  live.  The 
Knaves  and  Dastards  accordingly  were  got  arrested.  Das- 
tards upon  the  very  throne  had  to  be  got  arrested,  and  taken 
off  the  throne, — by  such  methods  as  there  were  ;  by  the  rough- 
est method,  if  there  chanced  to  be  no  smoother  one  !  Doubt- 
less there  was  much  harshness  of  operation,  much  severity  ; 
as  indeed  government  and  surgery  are  often  somewhat  severe. 
Gurth  born  thrall  of  Cedric,  it  is  like,  got  cuffs*  as  often  as 
pork -parings,  if  he  misdemeaned  himself :  but  Gurth  did  be- 
long to  Cedric  :  no  human  creature  then  went  about  connected 
with  nobody  ;  left  to  go  his  ways  into  Bastilles  or  worse,  under 
Laissez-faire  ;  reduced  to  prove  his  relationship  by  dying  of 
typhus-fever  ! — Days  come  when  there  is  no  King  in  Israel,  but 


ARISTOCRACIES. 


237 


every  man  is  his  own  king,  doing  that  which  is  right  in  his 
own  eyes  ; — and  tarbarrels  are  burnt  to  'Liberty,'  '  Tenpound 
Franchise '  and  the  like,  with  considerable  effect  in  various 
ways  ! — 

That  Feudal  Aristocracy,  I  say,  was  no  imaginary  one.  To 
a  respectable  degree,  its  Jarls,  what  we  now  call  Earls,  were 
Strong-Ones  in  fact  as  well  as  etymology  ;  its  Dukes  Leaders  ; 
its  Lords  Law-wards.  They  did  all  the  Soldiering  and  Police 
of  the  country,  all  the  Judging,  Law-making,  even  the  Church- 
Extension  ;  whatsoever  in  the  way  of  Governing,  of  Guiding 
and  Protecting  could  be  done.  It  was  a  Land  Aristocracy  ; 
it  managed  the  Governing  of  this  English  People,  and  had 
the  reaping  of  the  Soil  of  England  in  return.  It  is,  in  many 
senses,  the  Law  of  Nature,  this  same  Law  of  Feudalism  ; — no 
right  Aristocracy  but  a  Land  one  !  The  curious  are  invited 
to  meditate  upon  it  in  these  days.  Soldiering,  Police  and 
Judging,  Church-Extension,  nay  real  Government  and  Guid- 
ance, all  this  was  actually  done  by  the  Holders  of  the  Land  in 
return  for  their  Land.  How  much  of  it  is  now  done  by  them  ; 
done  by  anybody?  Good  Heavens,  " Laissez-faire,  Do  ye 
nothing,  eat  your  wages  and  sleep,"  is  everywhere  the  passion- 
ate half-wise  cry  of  this  time  ;  and  they  will  not  so  much  as 
do  nothing,  but  must  do  mere  Corn-Laws  !  We  raise  Fifty- 
two  millions,  from  the  general  mass  of  us,  to  get  our  Govern- 
ing done, — or,  alas,  to  get  ourselves  persuaded  that  it  is  done  : 
and  the  6  peculiar  burden  of  the  Land '  is  to  pay,  not  all  this, 
but  to  pay,  as  I  learn,  one  twenty-fourth  part  of  all  this.  Oar 
first  Chartist  Parliament,  or  Oliver  Redivivus,  you  would  say, 
will  know  where  to  lay  the  new  taxes  of  England  ! — Or,  alas, 
taxes  ?  If  we  made  the  Holders  of  the  Land  pay  every  shilling 
still  of  the  expense  of  Governing  the  Land,  what  were  all  that  ? 
The  Land,  by  mere  hired  Governors,  cannot  be  got  governed. 
You  cannot  hire  men  to  govern  the  Land  :  it  is  by  a  mission 
not  contracted  for  in  the  Stock-Exchange,  but  felt  in  their 
own  hearts  as  coming  out  of  Heaven,  that  men  can  govern  a 
Land.  The  mission  of  a  Land  Aristocracy  is  a  sacred  one,  in 
both  the  senses  of  that  old  word.  The  footing  it  stands  on,  at 
present,  might  give  rise  to  thoughts  other  than  of  Corn-Laws  !-  * 


238 


HOROSCOPE. 


But  truly  a  6  Splendour  of  God/  as  in  William  Conqueror's 
rough  oath,  did  dwell  in  those  old  rude  veracious  ages  ;  did 
inform,  more  and  more,  with  a  heavenly  nobleness,  all  de* 
partments  of  their  work  and  life.  Phantasms  could  not  yet 
walk  abroad  in  mere  Cloth  Tailorage  ;  they  were  at  least 
Phantasms  (  on  the  rim  of  the  horizon,'  pencilled  there  by  an 
eternal  Light-beam  from  within,  A  most  'practical'  Hero- 
worship  went  on,  unconsciously  or  half -consciously,  every- 
where. A  Monk  Samson,  with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings 
in  his  pocket,  could,  without  ballot-box,  be  made  a  Viceking 
of,  being  seen  to  be  worthy.  The  difference  between  a  good 
man  and  a  bad  man  was  as  yet  felt  to  be,  what  it  forever  is, 
an  immeasurable  one.  Who  durst  have  elected  a  Pandarus 
Dog-draught,  in  those  days,  to  any  office,-  Carlton  Club,  Sena- 
torship,  or  place  whatsoever  ?  It  was  felt  that  the  arch  Sa- 
tanas  and  no  other  had  a  clear  right  of  property  in  Pandarus  ; 
that  it  were  better  for  you  to  have  no  hand  in  Pandarus,  to 
keep  out  of  Pandarus  his  neighbourhood  !  Which  is,  to  this 
hour,  the  mere  fact ;  though  for  the  present,  alas,  the  forgot- 
ten fact.  I  think  they  were  comparatively  blessed  times  those, 
in  their  wTay  !  'Violence,'  'war,'  'disorder:'  well,  what  is 
war,  and  death  itself,  to  such  a  perpetual  life-in-death,  and 
'  peace,  peace  where  there  is  no  peace  ! '  Unless  some  Hero- 
worship,  in  its  new  appropriate  form,  can  return,  this  world 
does  not  promise  to  be  very  habitable  long. 

Old  Anselm,  exiled  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  one  of  the 
purest-minded  '  men  of  genius,'  was  travelling  to  make  his  ap- 
peal to  Eome  against  King  Rufus — a  man  of  rough  ways,  in 
whom  the  '  inner  Light-beam '  shone  very  fitfully.  It  is  beau- 
tiful to  read,  in  Monk  Eadmer,  how  the  Continental  popula- 
tions welcomed  and  venerated  this  Anselm,  as  no  French  popu- 
lation now  venerates  Jean-Jacques  or  giant-killing  Voltaire  ; 
as  not  even  an  American  population  now  venerates  a  Schniispel 
the  distinguished  Novelist !  They  had,  by  phantasy  and  true 
insight,  the  intensest  conviction  that  a  God's  Blessing  dwelt 
in  this  Anselm, — as  is  my  conviction  too.  They  crowded 
Found,  with  bent  knees  and  enkindled  hearts,  to  receive  his 
blessing,  to  hear  his  voice,  to  see  the  light  of  his  face.  My 


ARISTOCRACIES. 


233 


blessings  on  them  and  on  him ! — But  the  notablest  was  a  cer- 
tain necessitous  or  covetous  Duke  of  Burgundy,  in  straitened 
circumstances  we  shall  hope, — who  reflected  that  in  all  likeli- 
hood this  English  Archbishop,  going  towards  Rome  to  appeal, 
must  have  taken  store  of  cash  with  him  to  bribe  the  Cardinals. 
Wherefore  he  of  Burgundy,  for  his  part,  decided  to  lie  in 
wait  and  rob  him.  '  In  an  open  space  of  a  wood,'  some  '  wood' 
then  green  and  growing,  eight  centuries  ago,  in  Burgundian 
Land, — this  fierce  Duke,  with  fierce  steel  followers,  shaggy, 
savage,  as  the  Russian  bear,  dashes  out  on  the  weak  old  An- 
selm  ;  who  is  riding  along  there,  on  his  small  quiet-going 
pony  ;  escorted  only  by  Eadmer  and  another  poor  Monk  on 
ponies ;  and,  except  small  modicum  of  roadmoney,  not  a  gold 
coin  in  his  possession.  The  steelclad  Russian  bear  emerges,, 
glaring :  the  old  white-bearded  man  starts  not,  -paces  on  un- 
moved, looking  into  him  with  those  clear  old  earnest  eyes, 
with  that  venerable  sorrowful  time-worn  face  ;  of  whom  no 
man  or  thing  need  be  afraid,  and  who  also  is  afraid  of  no 
created  man  or  thing.  The  fire-eyes  of  his  Burgundian  Grace 
meet  these  clear  eye-glances,  convey  them  swift  to  his  heart  : 
he  bethinks  him  that  probably  this  feeble,  fearless,  hoary  Fig- 
ure has  in  it  something  of  the  Most  High  God  ;  that  probably 
he  shall  be  damned  if  he  meddle  with  it, — that,  on  the  whole, 
he  had  better  not.  He  plunges,  the  rough  savage,  from  his 
war-horse,  down  to  his  knees  ;  embraces  the  feet  of  old  An- 
selm  :  he  too  begs  his  blessing  ;  orders  men  to  escort  him, 
guard  him  from  being  robbed,  and  under  dread  penalties  see 
him  safe  on  his  way.  Per  os  Dei,  as  his  Majesty  was  wont  to 
ejaculate  ! 

Neither  is  this  quarrel  of  Rufus  and  Anselm,  of  Henry  and 
Becket,  uninstructive  to  us.  It  was,  at  bottom,  a  great  quar- 
rel. For,  admitting  that  Anselm  w:as  full  of  divine  blessing, 
he  by  no  means  included  in  him  all  forms  of  divine  blessing  : 
— there  were  far  other  forms  withal,  which  he  little  dreamed 
of ;  and  William  Redbeard  was  unconsciously  the  representa- 
tive and  spokesman  of  these.  In  truth,  could  your  divine 
Anselm,  your  divine  Pope  Gregory  have  had  their  way,  the 
results  had  been  very  notable.    Our  Western  WTorld  had  al] 


240 


HOROSCOPE. 


become  a  European  Thibet,  with,  one  Grand  Lama  sitting  at 
Rome  ;  our  one  honourable  business  that  of  singing  mass,  all 
clay  and  all  night.  Which  would  not  in  the  least  have  suited 
us !    The  Supreme  Powers  willed  it  not  so. 

It  was  as  if  King  Redbeard  unconsciously,  addressing  An* 
sslm,  Becket  and  the  others,  had  said  :  "  Bight  Reverend, 
your  Theory  of  the  Universe  is  indisputable  by  man  or  devil. 
To  the  core  of  our  heart  we  feel  that  this  divine  thing,  which 
you  call  Mother  Church,  does  fill  the  whole  world  hitherto 
known,  and  is  and  shall  be  all  our  salvation  and  all  our  desire. 
And  yet — and  yet — Behold  though  it  is  an  unspoken  secret, 
the  world  is  vnder  than  any  of  us  think,  Right  Reverend ! 
Behold,  there  are  yet  other  immeasurable  Sacrednesses  in  this 
that  you  call  Heathenism,  Secularity  !  On  the  whole  I,  in  an 
obscure  but  most  rooted  manner  feel  that  I  cannot  comply 
with  you.  Western  Thibet  and  perpetual  mass-chanting. — 
No.  I  am,  so  to  speak,  in  the  family- way  ;  with  child,  of  I 
know  not  what, — certainly  of  something  far  different  from 
this  !  I  have — Per  os  Dei,  I  have  Manchester  Cotton- trades, 
Bromwicham  Iron-trades,  American  Commonwealths,  Indian 
Empires,  Steam  Mechanisms  and  Shakspeare  Dramas,  in  my 
belly  ;  and  cannot  do  it,  Right  Reverend  ! " — So  accordingly 
it  was  decided  :  and  Saxon  Becket  spilt  his  life  in  Canterbury 
Cathedral,  as  Scottish  Wallace  did  on  Tower-Hill,  and  as  gen- 
erally a  noble  man  and  martyr  has  to  do-, — not  for  nothing  ; 
no,  but  for  a  divine  something,  other  than  he  had  altogether 
calculated.  We  will  now  quit  this  of  the  hard,  organic,  but 
limited  Feudal  Ages  ;  and  glance  timidly  into  the  immense 
Industrial  Ages,  as  yet  all  inorganic,  and  in  a  quite  pulpy  con- 
dition, requiring  desperately  to  harden  themselves  into  some 
organism ! 

Our  Epie  having  now  become  Tools  and  the  Man,  it  is  more 
than  usually  impossible  to  prophesy  the  Future.  The  bound- 
less Future  does  lie  there,  pre-destined,  nay  already  extant 
though  unseen  ;  hiding,  in  its  Continents  of  Darkness,  '  glad- 
ness and  sorrow  : '  but  the  supremest  intelligence  of  man  can- 
not prefigure  much  of  it  : — the  united  intelligence  and  effort 


ARISTOCRACIES. 


241 


of  All  Men  in  all  coming  generations,  this  alone  will  gradually 
prefigure  it,  and  figure  and  form  H  into  a  seen  fact !  Strain- 
ing our  eyes  hitherto,  the  utmost  effort  of  intelligence  sheds 
but  some  most  glimmering  dawn,  a  little  way  into  its  dark 
enormous  Deeps  :  only  huge  outlines  loom  uncertain  on  the 
sight  ;  and  the  ray  of  prophecy,  at  a  short  distance,  expires. 
But  may  we  not  say,  here  as  always,  Sufficient  for  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof  !  To  shape  the  whole  Future  is  not  our  prob- 
lem ;  but  only  to  shape  faithfully  a  small  part  of  it,  according 
to  rules  already  known.  It  is  perhaps  possible  for  each  of  us, 
who  will  with  due  earnestness  inquire,  to  ascertain  clearly 
what  he,  for  his  own  part,  ought  to  do  :  this  let  him,  with 
true  heart  do,  and  continue  doing.  The  general  issue  will,  as 
it  has  always  done,  rest  well  with  a  Higher  Intelligence  than 
ours. 

One  grand  'outline,'  or  even  two,  many  earnest  readers  may 
perhaps,  at  this  stage  of  the  business,  be  able  to  prefigure  for 
themselves, — and  draw  some  guidance  from.  One  prediction, 
or  even  two,  are  already  possible.  For  the  Life-tree  Igdrasil, 
in  all  its  new  developments,  is  the  self- same  world-old  Life- 
tree  :  having  found  an  element  or  elements  there,  running 
from  the  very  roots  of  it  in  Hela's  Realms,  in  the  Well  of 
Mimer  and  of  the  Three  Nomas  or  Times,  up  to  this  present 
hour  of  it  in  our  own  hearts,  we  conclude  that  such  will  have 
to  continue.  A  man  has  in  his  own  soul,  an  Eternal ;  can 
read  something  of  the  Eternal  there,  if  he  will  look !  He  al- 
ready knows  what  will  continue  ;  what  cannot,  by  any  means 
or  appliance  whatsoever,  be  made  to  continue ! 

One  wide  and  widest  c  outline  5  ought  really,  in  all  ways,  to 
be  becoming  clear  to  us  ;  this  namely  :  That  a  '  Splendour  of 
God,'  in  one  form  or  other,  will  have  to  unfold  itself  from  the 
heart  of  these  our  Industrial  Ages  too  ;  or  they  will  never  get 
themselves  £  organised  ; '  but  continue  chaotic,  distressed,  dis- 
tracted evermore,  and  have  to  perish  in  frantic  suicidal  disso- 
lution. A  second  c  outline  5  or  prophecy,  narrower,  but  also 
wide  enough,  seems  not  less  certain  :  That  there  will  again  be 
a  King  in  Israel  ;  a  system  of  Order  and  Government ;  and 
every  man  shall,  in  some  measure,  see  himself  constrained  to 
2G 


9A2 


HOROSCOPE. 


do  that  which  is  right  in  the  King's  eyes.  This  too  we  mat 
call  a  sure  element  of  the  Future  ;  for  this  too  is  of  the  Eter- 
nal ; — this  too  is  of  the  Present,  though  hidden  from  most  ; 
and  without  it  no  fibre  of  the  Past  ever  was.  An  actual  new 
Sovereignty,  Industrial  Aristocracy,  real  not  imaginary  Aris- 
tocracy, is  indispensable  and  indubitable  for  us. 

But  what  an  Aristocracy  ;  on  what  new,  far  more  complex 
and  cunningly  devised  conditions  than  that  old  Feudal  fight- 
ing one  !  For  we  are  to  bethink  us  that  the  Epic  verily  is 
not  Arms  and  the  Man,  but  Tools  and  the  Man, — an  infinitely 
wider  kind  of  Epic.  And  again  we  are  to  bethink  us  that  men  ~ 
cannot  now  be  bound  to  men  by  brass-collars,—  not  at  all :  that 
this  brass-collar  method,  in  all  figures  of  it,  has  vanished  out 
of  Europe  forevermore  !  Huge  Democracy,  walking  the 
streets  everywhere  in  its  Sack  Coat,  has  asserted  so  much  ; 
irrevocably,  brooking  no  reply  !  True  enough,  man  is  forever 
the  '  born  thrall '  of  certain  men,  born  master  of  certain  other 
men,  born  equal  of  certain  others,  let  him  acknowledge  the 
fact  or  not.  It  is  unblessed  for  him  when  he  cannot  acknowl- 
edge this  fact ;  he  is  in  the  chaotic  state,  ready  to  perish,  till 
he  do  get  the  fact  acknowledged.  But  no  man  is,  or  can 
henceforth  be,  the  brass-collar  thrall  of  any  man  ;  you  will 
have  to  bind  him  by  other,  far  nobler  and  cunninger  methods. 
Once  for  all,  he  is  to  be  loose  of  the  brass-collar,  to  have  a 
scope  as  wide  as  his  faculties  now  are  : — will  he  not  be  all  the 
usefuler  to  you,  in  that  new  state  ?  Let  him  go  abroad  as  a 
trusted  one,  as  a  free  one  ;  and  return  home  to  you  with  rich 
earnings  at  night !  Gurth  could  only  tend  pigs  ;  this  one  will 
build  cities,  conquer  waste  worlds. — How,  in  conjunction  with 
inevitable  Democracy,  indispensable  Sovereignty  is  to  exist  : 
certainly  it  is  the  hugest  question  ever  heretofore  propounded 
to  Mankind  !  The  solution  of  which  is  work  for  long  years 
and  centuries.  Years  and  centuries,  of  one  knows  not  what 
complexion  ;  —  blessed  or  unblessed,  according  as  they  shall, 
with  earnest  valiant  effort,  make  progress  therein,  or,  in  sloth- 
ful unveracity  and  dilettantism,  only  talk  of  making  progress. 
For  either  progress  therein,  or  swift  and  eve]'  swifter  progress 
towards  dissolution,  is  henceforth  a  necessity. 


BRIBERY  COMMITTEE. 


243 


It  is  of  importance  that  this  grand  reformation  were  begun  ; 
that  Corn-Law  Debatings  and  other  jargon,  little  less  than  de- 
lirious in  such  a  time,  had  fled  far  away,  and  left  us  room  to 
begin  !  For  the  evil  has  grown  practical,  extremely  conspic- 
uous ;  if  it  be  not  seen  and  provided  for,  the  blindest  fool  will 
have  to  feel  it  ere  long.  There  is  much  that  can  wait  ;  but 
there  is  something  also  that  cannot  wait.  With  millions  of 
eager  Working  Men  imprisoned  in  '  Impossibility  '  and  Poor- 
Law  Bastilles  it  is  time  that  some  means  of  dealing  with 
them  were  trying  to  become  £  possible  ! '  Of  the  Government 
of  England,  of  all  articulate-speaking  functionaries,  real  and 
imaginary  Aristocracies,  of  me  and  of  thee,  it  is  imperatively 
demanded,  "  How  do  you  mean  to  manage  these  men? 
Where  are  they  to  find  a  supportable  existence  ?  What  is  to 
become  of  them, — and  of  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

BEIBERY  COMMITTEE. 

In  the  case  of  the  late  Bribery  Committee,  it  seemed  to  be 
the  conclusion  of  the  soundest  practical  minds  that  Bribery 
could  not  be  put  down  ;  that  Pure  Election  was  a  thing  we 
had  seen  the  last  of,  and  must  now  go  on  without,  as  we  best 
could.  A  conclusion  not  a  little  startling ;  to  which  it  re- 
quires a  practical  mind  of  some  seasoning  to  reconcile  your- 
self at  once  !  It  seems,  then,  we  are  henceforth  to  get  our- 
selves constituted  Legislators  not  according  to  what  merit  we 
may  have,  or  even  what  merit  we  may  seem  to  have,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  length  of  our  purse,  and  our  frankness,  impu- 
dence and  dexterity  in  laying  out  the  contents  of  the  same. 
Our  theory,  written  down  in  all  books  and  law-books,  spouted 
forth  from  all  barrel-heads,  is  perfect  purity  of  Tenpound 
Franchise, — absolute  sincerity  of  question  put  and  answer 
given  ; — and  our  practice  is  irremediable  bribery  ;  irremedi- 
able, unpunishable,  which  you  will  do  more  harm  titan  good 
by  attempting  to  punish  !  Once  more,  a  very  startling  con- 
clusion indeed  ;  which,  whatever  the  soundest  practical  minds 


HOROSCOPE. 


in  Parliament  may  think  of  it,  invites  all  British  men  to  medi* 
tations  of  various  kinds. 

A  Parliament,  one  would  say,  which  proclaims  itself  elected 
and  eligible  by  bribery,  tells  the  Nation  that  is  governed  by 
it  a  piece  of  singular  news.  Bribery  :  have  we  reflected  what 
bribery  is  ?  Bribery  means  not  only  length  of  purse,  which 
is  neither  qualification  nor  the  contrary  for  legislating  well ; 
but  it  means  dishonesty,  and  even  impudent  dishonesty  ; — . 
brazen  insensibility  to  lying  and  to  making  others  lie  ;  total 
oblivion,  and  flinging  overboard,  for  the  nonce,  of  any  real 
thing  you  can  call  veracity,  morality  ;  with  dextrous  putting 
on  the  cast-clothes  of  that  real  thing,  and  strutting  about  in 
them  !  What  Legislating  can  you  get  out  of  a  man  in  that 
fatal  situation?  None  that  will  profit  much,  one  would  think ! 
A  Legislator  who  has  left  his  veracity  lying  on  the  door-thresh- 
old,  he,  why  verily  he — ought  to  be  sent  out  to  seek  it  again  ! 

Heavens,  what  an  improvement,  were  there  once  fairly  in 
Downing-street,  an  Election-Ofiice  opened,  with  a  Tariff  of 
Boroughs !  Such  and  such  a  population,  amount  of  proper- 
ty-tax, ground-rental,  extent  of  trade  ;  returns  two  Members, 
returns  one  Member,  for  so  much  money  down  :  Ipswich  so 
many  thousands,  Nottingham  so  many, —  as  they  happened, 
one  by  one,  to  fall  into  this  new  Downing-street  Schedule  A ! 
An  incalculable  improvement,  in  comparison  :  for  now  at 
least  you  have  it  fairly  by  length  of  purse,  and  leave  the  dis- 
honesty, the  impudence,  the  unveraciiy  all  handsomely  aside. 
Length  of  purse,  and  desire  to  be  a  Legislator  ought  to  get  a 
man  into  Parliament,  not  with,  but  if  possible  without  the  un- 
veracity,  the  impudence  and  the  dishonesty !  Length  of 
purse  and  desire,  these  are,  as  intrinsic  qualifications,  cor- 
rectly equal  to  zero  :  but  they  are  not  yet  less  than  zero, — as 
the  smallest  addition  of  that  latter  sort  will  make  them  ! 

And  is  it  come  to  this  ?  And  does  our  venerable  Parlia- 
ment announce  itself  elected  and  eligible  in  this  manner  ? 
Surely  such  a  Parliament  promulgates  strange  horoscopes  of 
itself.  What  is  to  become  of  a  Parliament  elected  or  eligible 
in  this  manner?  Unless  Belial  and  Beelzebub  have  got  pos- 
session of  the  throne  of  this  Universe,  such  Parliament  is  pre- 


BRIBERY  COMMITTEE. 


245 


paring  itself  for  new  Keform-bills.  We  shall  have  to  try  it 
by  Chartism,  or  any  conceivable  ism,  rather  than  put  up 
with  this  !  There  is  already  in  England  c  religion '  enough  to 
get  six  hundred  and  fifty-eight  Consulting  Men  brought  to- 
gether who  do  not  begin  work  with  a  lie  in  their  mouth.  Our 
poor  old  Parliament,  thousands  of  years  old,  is  still  good  for 
something,  for  several  things  ; — though  many  are  beginning 
to  ask,  with  ominous  anxiety,  in  these  days  :  For  what  thing? 
But  for  whatever  thing  and  things  Parliament  be  good,  indis- 
putably it  must  start  with  other  than  a  lie  in  its  mouth !  On 
the  whole,  a  Parliament  working  with  a  lie  in  its  mouth,  will 
have  to  take  itself  away.  To  no  Parliament  or  thing,  that 
one  has  heard  of,  did  this  Universe  ever  long  yield  harbour 
on  that  footing.  At  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  some 
Chartism  is  advancing,  some  armed  Cromwell  is  advancing,  to 
apprise  such  Parliament :  "  Ye  are  no  Parliament.  In  the 
name  of  God, — go  ! " 

In  sad  truth,  once  more,  how  is  our  whole  existence,  in 
these  present  days,  built  on  Cant,  Speciosity,  Falsehood,  Dil- 
ettantism ;  with  this  one  serious  Veracity  in  it :  Mammon- 
ism  !  Dig  down  where  you  will,  through  the  Parliament- 
floor  or  elsewhere,  how  infallibly  do  you,  at  spade's  depth 
below  the  surface,  come  upon  this  universal  Liars-rock  sub- 
stratum !  Much  else  is  ornamental  ;  true  on  barrel-heads,  in 
pulpits,  hustings,  Parliamentary  benches  ;  but  this  is  forever 
true  and  truest:  "Money  does  bring  money's  worth;  Put 
money  in  your  purse."  Here,  if  nowhere  else,  is  the  human 
soul  still  in  thorough  earnest  ;  sincere  with  a  prophet's  sin- 
cerity :  and  '  the  Hell  of  the  English,'  as  Sauerteig  said,  £  is 
'  the  infinite  terror  of  Not  getting  on,  especially  of  Not  making 
'  money.'    With  results ! 

To  many  persons  the  horoscope  of  Parliament  is  more  in- 
teresting than  to  me :  but  surely  all  men  with  souls  must 
admit  that  sending  members  to  Parliament  by  bribery  is  an 
infamous  solecism  ;  an  act  entirely  immoral,  which  no  man 
can  have  to  do  withr  more  or  less,  but  he  will  soil  his  fingers 
more  or  less.    No  Garlton  Clubs,  Reform  Clubs,  nor  any  sort 


246 


HOROSCOPE. 


of  clubs  or  creatures,  or  of  accredited  opinions  or  practices, 
can  make  a  Lie  Truth,  can  make  Bribery  a  Propriety.  The 
Parliament  should  really  either  punish  and  put  away  Bribery, 
or  legalise  it  by  some  Office  in  Downing-street.  As  I  read 
the  Apocalypses,  a  Parliament  that  can  do  neither  of  these 
things  is  not  in  a  good  way. — And  yet,  alas,  what  of  Parlia- 
ments and  their  Elections  ?  Parliamentary  Elections  are  but 
the  topmost  ultimate  outcome  of  an  electioneering  which  goes 
on  at  all  hours,  in  all  places,  in  every  meeting  of  two  or  more 
men.  It  is  we  that  vote  wrong,  and  teach  the  poor  ragged 
Freemen  of  Boroughs  to  vote  wrong.  We  pay  respect  to 
those  worthy  of  no  respect. 

Is  not  Pandarus  Dogdraught  a  member  of  select  clubs,  and 
admitted  into  the  drawingrooms  of  men  ?  Visibly  to  all  per- 
sons he  is  of  the  offal  of  Creation  ;  but  he  carries  money  in 
his  purse,  due  lacker  on  his  dog-visage,  and  it  is  believed  wTill 
not  steal  spoons.  The  human  species  does  not  with  one  voice, 
like  the  Hebrew  Psalmist,  '  shun  to  sit '  with  Dogdraught,  re- 
fuse totally  to  dine  with  Dogdraught  ;  men  called  of  honour 
are  willing  enough  to  dine  with  him,  his  talk  being  lively,  and 
his  champagne  excellent.  We  say  to  ourselves,  "  The  man  is 
in  good  society/' — others  have  already  voted  for  him  ;  why 
should  not  I  ?  We  forget  the  indefeasible  right  of  property 
that  Satan  has  in  Dogdraught, — we  are  not  afraid  to  be  near 
Dogdraught !  It  is  we  that  vote  wrong  ;  blindly,  nay  with 
falsity  prepense  !  It  is  we  that  no  longer  know  the  difference 
between  Human  Worth  and  Human  Unworth  ;  or  feel  that 
the  one  is  admirable  and  alone  admirable,  the  other  detestable, 
damnable  !  How  shall  we  find  out  a  Hero  and  Viceking  Sam- 
son with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings  in  his  pocket  ?  We 
have  no  chance  to  do  such  a  thing.  We  have  got  out  of  the 
Ages  of  Heroism,  deep  into  the  Ages  of  Flunkeyism — and 
must  return  or  die.  What  a  noble  set  of  mortals  are  we,  who, 
because  there  is  no  Saint  Edmund  threatening  us  at  the  rim 
of  the  horizon,  are  not  afraid  to  be  whatever,  for  the  day  and 
hour,  is  smoothest  for  us  ! 

And  now,  in  good  sooth,  wThy  should  an  indigent  discerning 
Freeman  give  his  vote  without  bribes  ?    Let  us  rather  honour 


BRIBERY  COMMITTEE. 


247 


the  poor  man  that  he  does  discern  clearly  wherein  lies,  for 
him,  the  true  kernel  of  the  matter.  What  is  it  to  the  ragged 
grimy  Freeman  of  a  Tenpound-Franchise  Borough,  whether 
Aristides  Rigmarole  Esq.  of  the  Destructive,  or  the  Hon.  Al- 
cides  Dolittle  of  the  Conservative  Party  be  sent  to  Parlia- 
ment ; — much  more,  whether  the  two-thousandth  part  of  them 
be  sent,  for  that  is  the  amount  of  his  faculty  in  it  ?  Destruc- 
tive or  Conservative,  what  will  either  of  them  destroy  or  con- 
serve of  vital  moment  to  this  Freeman  ?  Has  he  found  either 
of  them  care,  at  bottom,  a  sixpence  for  him  or  his  interests, 
or  those  of  his  class  or  of  his  cause,  or  of  any  class  or  cause 
that  is  of  much  value  to  God  or  to  man  ?  Rigmarole  and  Do- 
little  have  alike  cared  for  themselves  hitherto  :  and  for  their 
own  clique,  and  self-conceited  crochets, — their  greasy  dis- 
honest interests  of  pudding,  or  windy  dishonest  interests  of 
praise  ;  and  not  very  perceptibly  for  any  other  interest  what- 
ever. Neither  Rigmarole  nor  Dolittle  will  accomplish  any 
good  or  any  evil  for  this  grimy  Freeman,  like  giving  him  a 
five-pound  note,  or  refusing  to  give  it  him.  It  will  be 
smoothest  to  vote  according  to  value  received.  That  is  the 
veritable  fact ;  and  he  indigent,  like  others  that  are  not  indi- 
gent, acts  conformably  thereto. 

Why,  reader,  truly,  if  they  asked  thee  or  me,  Which  way  we 
meant  to  vote  ? — were  it  not  our  likeliest  answer :  Neither  way ! 
I,  as  a  Tenpound  Franchiser,  will  receive  no  bribe :  but  also  I 
will  not  vote  for  either  of  these  men.  Neither  Rigmarole  nor 
Dolittle  shall,  by  furtherance  of  mine,  go  and  make  laws  for 
this  country.  I  will  have  no  hand  in  such  a  mission.  How 
dare  I !  If  other  men  cannot  be  got  in  England,  a  totally 
other  sort  of  men,  different  as  light  is  from  dark,  as  star-fire 
is  from  street-mud,  what  is  the  use  of  votings,  or  of  Parlia- 
ments in  England  ?  England  ought  to  resign  herself  ;  there 
is  no  hope  or  possibility  for  England.  If  England  cannot  get 
her  Knaves  and  Dastards,  6  arrested,'  in  some  degree,  but  only 
get  them  '  elected,*  what  is  to  become  of  England  ? 

I  conclude,  with  all  confidence,  that  England  will  verily  have 
to  put  an  end  to  briberies  on  her  Election  Hustings  and  else- 


248 


HOROSCOPE. 


where,  at  what  cost  soever  ; — and  likewise  that  we,  Electors 
and  Eligibles,  one  and  all  of  us,  for  our  own  behoof  and  hers, 
cannot  too  soon  begin,  at  what  cost  soever,  to  put  an  end  to 
bribeabilities  in  ourselves.  The  death-leprosy,  attacked  in  this 
manner,  by  purifying  lotions  from  without  and  by  rallying  of 
the  vital  energies  and  purities  from  within,  will  probably  abate 
somewhat !    It  has  otherwise  no  chance  to  abate. 


CHAPTEK  III. 

THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 

What  our  Government  can  do  in  this  grand  Problem  of  the 
Working  Classes  of  England?  Yes,  supposing  the  insane  Corn- 
Laws  totally  abolished,  all  speech  of  them  ended,  and  '  from 
ten  to  twenty  years  of  new  possibility  to  live  and  find  wages' 
conceded  us  in  consequence  :  What  the  English  Government 
might  be  expected  to  accomplish  or  attempt  towards  render- 
ing the  existence  of  our  Labouring  Millions  somewhat  less 
anomalous,  somewhat  less  impossible,  in  the  years  that  are  to 
follow  those  '  ten  or  twenty,'  if  either  '  ten '  or  '  twenty '  there 
be? 

It  is  the  most  momentous  question.  For  all  this  of  the 
Corn-Law  Abrogation,  and  what  can  follow  therefrom,  is  but 
as  the  shadow  on  King  Hezekiah's  Dial :  the  shadow  has  gone 
back  twenty  years  ;  but  will  again,  in  spite  of  Free-Trades  and 
Abrogations,  travel  forward  its  old  fated  way.  With  our  pres- 
ent system  of  individual  Mammonism,  and  Government  by 
Laissez-faire,  this  Nation  cannot  live.  And  if,  in  the  priceless 
interim,  some  new  life  and  healing  be  not  found,  there  is  no 
second  respite  to  be  counted  on.  The  shadow  on  -the  Dial 
advances  thenceforth  without  pausing.  What  Government 
can  do  ?  This  that  they  call  '  Organising  of  Labour '  is,  if  well 
understood,  the  Problem  of  the  whole  Future,  for  all  who  will 
in  future  pretend  to  govern  men.  But  our  first  preliminary 
stage  of  it,  How  to  deal  with  the  Actual  Labouring  Millions 
of  England?  this  is  the  imperatively  pressing  Problem  of  the 
Present,  pressing  with  a  truly  fearful  intensity  and  imminence 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


249 


in  these  very  years  and  days.  No  Government  can  longer 
neglect  it :  once  more,  what  can  our  Government  do  in  it  ? 

Governments  are  of  very  various  degrees  of  activity  :  some, 
altogether  Lazy  Governments,  in  '  free  countries '  as  they  are 
called,  seem  in  these  times  almost  to  profess  to  do,  if  not  noth- 
ing, one  knows  not  at  first  what.  To  debate  in  Parliament, 
and  gain  majorities  ;  and  ascertain  who  shall  be,  with  a  toil 
hardly  second  to  Ixion's,  the  Prime  Speaker  and  Spoke-holder, 
and  keep  the  Ixion's- Wheel  going,  if  not  forward,  yet  round  ? 
Not  altogether  so  : — much,  to  the  experienced  eye,  is  not  what 
it  seems !  Chancery  and  certain  other  Law-Courts  seem  noth- 
ing ;  yet  in  fact  they  are,  the  worst  of  them,  something :  chim- 
neys for  the  devilry  and  contention  of  men  to  escape  by  ; — a 
very  considerable  something  !  Parliament  too  has  its  tasks,  if 
thou  wilt  look  ;  fit  to  wear  out  the  lives  of  toughest  men.  The 
celebrated  Kilkenny  Cats,  through  their  tumultuous  congress, 
cleaving  the  ear  of  Night,  could  they  be  said  to  do  nothing  ? 
Hadst  thou  been  of  them,  thou  hadst  seen  !  The  feline  heart 
laboured,  as  with  steam  up  —to  the  bursting  point ;  and  death- 
doing  energy  nerved  every  muscle  :  they  had  a  work  there  ; 
and  did  it !  On  the  morrow,  two  tails  were  found  left,  and 
peaceable  annihilation  ;  a  neighbourhood  delivered  from  de- 
spair. 

Again,  are  not  Spinning-Dervishes  an  eloquent  emblem, 
significant  of  much  ?  Hast  thou  noticed  him,  that  solemn- 
visaged  Turk,  the  eyes  shut ;  dingy  wool  mantle  circularly 
hiding  his  figure  ; — bell- shaped  ;  like  a  dingy  bell  set  spin- 
ning on  the  tongue  of  it?  By  centrifugal  force  the  dingy 
wool  mantle  heaves  itself  ;  spreads  more  and  more,  like  up- 
turned cup  widening  into  upturned  saucer :  thus  spins  he, 
to  the  praise  of  Allah  and  advantage  of  mankind,  fast  and 
faster,  till  collapse  ensue,  and  sometimes  death  ! — 

A  Government  such  as  ours,  consisting  of  from  seven  to 
eight  hundred  Parliamentary  Talkers,  with  their  escort  of 
Able  Editors  and  Public  Opinion  ;  and  for  head,  certain 
Lords  and  Servants  of  the  Treasury,  and  Chief  Secretaries 
and  others,  who  find  themselves  at  once  Chiefs  and  No- 


250 


HOROSCOPE. 


Chiefs,  and  often  commanded  rather  than  commanding, — is 
doubtless  a  most  complicate  entity,  and  none  of  the  alertest 
for  getting  on  with  business  !  Clearly  enough,  if  the  Chiefs 
be  not  self-motive  and  what  we  call  men,  but  mere  patient 
lay-figures  without  self-motive  principle,  the  Government  will 
not  move  any  whither  ;  it  will  tumble  disastrously,  and  jum- 
ble, round  its  own  axis,  as  for  many  years  past  we  have  seen  it 
do. — And  yet  a  self-motive  man  who  is  not  a  lay-figure,  place 
him  in  the  heart  of  what  entity  you  may,  will  make  it  move 
more  or  less  !  The  absurdest  in  Nature  he  will  make  a  little 
less  absurd,  he.  The  unwieldiest  he  will  make  to  move  ; — 
that  is  the  use  of  his  existing  there.  He  will  at  least  have 
the  manfulness  to  depart  out  of  it,  if  not ;  to  say  :  "  I  cannot 
move  in  thee,  and  be  a  man  ;  like  a  wretched  drift-log  dressed 
in  man's  clothes  and  minister's  clothes,  doomed  to  a  lot  baser 
than  belongs  to  man,  I  will  not  continue  with  thee,  tumbling 
aimless  on  the  Mother  of  Dead  Dogs  here  : — Adieu !  " 

For,  on  the  whole,  it  is  the  lot  of  Chiefs  everywhere,  this 
same.  No  Chief  in  the  most  despotic  country,  but  was  a 
Servant  withal ;  at  once  an  absolute  commanding  General, 
and  a  poor  Orderly-Sergeant,  ordered  by  the  very  men  in  the 
ranks, — obliged  to  collect  the  vote  of  the  ranks  too,  in  some 
articulate  or  inarticulate  shape,  and  weigh  well  the  same. 
The  proper  name  of  all  Kings  is  minister,  Servant.  In  no 
conceivable  Government  can  a  lay-figure  get  forward  !  This 
Worker,  surely  he  above  all  others  has  to  '  spread  out  his 
Gideon's  Fleece,'  and  collect  the  monitions  of  Immensity  ;  the 
poor  Localities,  as  we  said,  and  Parishes  of  Palace-yard  or 
elsewhere,  having  no  due  monition  in  them.  A  Prime  Min- 
ister, even  here  in  England,  who  shall  dare  believe  the  heav- 
enly omens,  and  address  himself  like  a  man  and  hero  to  the 
great  dumb-struggling  heart  of  England  ;  and  speak  out  for 
it,  and  act  out  for  it,  the  God's-Justice  it  is  writhing  to  get 
uttered  and  perishing  for  want  of, — yes,  he  too,  will  see 
awaken  round  him,  in  passionate  burning  all-defiant  loyalty, 
the  heart  of  England,  and  such  a  '  support '  as  no  Division* 
List  or  Parliamentary  Majority  was  ever  yet  known  to  yield 
a  man  !    Here  as  there,  now  as  then,  he  who  can  and  dare 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


251 


trust  the  heavenly  Immensities,  all  earthly  Localities  are  sub- 
ject to  him.  We  will  pray  for  such  a  Man  and  First-Lord  ;— 
yes,  and  far  better,  we  will  strive  and  incessantly  make  ready, 
each  of  us,  to  be  worthy  to  serve  and  second  such  a  First- 
Lord  !  We  shall  then  be  as  good  as  sure  of  his  arriving ; 
sure  of  many  things,  let  him  arrive  or  not. 

Who  can  despair  of  Governments  that  passes  a  Soldiers' 
Guardhouse,  or  meets  a  redcoated  man  on  the  streets  !  That 
a  body  of  men  could  be  got  together  to  kill  other  men  when 
you  bade  them :  this,  a  'priori,  does  it  not  seem  one  of  the 
impossiblest  things  ?  Yet  look,  behold  it :  in  the  stolidest  of 
Donothing  Governments,  that  impossibility  is  a  thing  done. 
See  it  there  with  buff-belts,  red  coats  on  its  back  ;  walking 
sentry  at  guard-houses,  brushing  white  breeches  in  barracks  ; 
an  indisputable  palpable  fact.  Out  of  grey  Antiquity,  amid 
all  finance-dimculties,  scaccar m>?i-tallies,  ship-moneys,  coat- 
and-conduct  moneys,  and  vicissitudes  of  Chance  and  Time, 
there,  down  to  the  present  blessed  hour,  it  is. 

Often,  in  these  painfully  decadent  and  painfully  nascent 
Times,  with  their  distresses,  inarticulate  gaspings  and  'im- 
possibilities ; '  meeting  a  tall  Lifeguardsman  in  his  snow- 
white  trousers,  or  seeing  those  two  statuesque  Lifeguardsmen 
in  their  frowning  bearskins,  pipe-clayed  buckskins,  on  their 
coal-black  sleek  fiery  quadrupeds,  riding  sentry  at  the  Horse- 
Guards, — it  strikes  one  with  a  kind  of  mournful  interest, 
how,  in  such  universal  down-rushing  and  wrecked  impotence 
of  almost  all  old  institutions,  this  oldest  Fighting  Institution 
is  still  so  young !  Fresh-complexioned,  firm-limbed,  six  feet 
by  the  standard,  this  fighting-man  has  verily  been  got  up,  and 
can  fight.  While  so  much  has  not  yet  got  into  being ;  while 
so  much  has  gone  gradually  out  of  it,  and  become  an  empty 
Semblance  of  Clothes-suit ;  and  highest  king's-cloaks,  mere 
chimeras  parading  under  them  so  long,  are  getting  unsightly 
to  the  earnest  eye,  unsightly,  almost  offensive,  like  a  costlier 
kind  of  scarecrow's-blanket, — here  still  is  a  reality  ! 

The  man  in  horsehair  wig  advances,  promising  that  he  will 
get  me  '  justice he  takes  me  into  Chancery  Law-Courts, 
into  decades,  half-centuries  of  hubbub,  of  distracted  jargon  ^ 


252 


HOROSCOPE. 


and  does  get  me— disappointment,  almost  desperation  ;  and 
one  refuge  :  that  of  dismissing  him  and  his  'justice '  altogether 
out  of  my  head.  For  I  have  work  to  do  ;  I  cannot  spend  my 
decades  in  mere  arguing  with  other  men  about  the  exact 
wages  of  my  work  :  I  will  work  cheerfully  with  no  wages, 
sooner  than  with  a  ten-years  gangrene  or  Chancery  Lawsuit 
in  my  heart  !  He  of  the  horsehair  wig  is  a  sort  of  failure  ;  no 
substance,  but  a  fond  imagination  of  the  mind.  He  of  the 
shovel-hat,  again,  who  comes  forward  professing  that;  he  will 
save  my  soul — O  ye  Eternities,  of  him  in  this  place  be  abso- 
lute silence  ! — But  he  of  the  red  coat,  I  say,  is  a  success  and 
no  failure  !  He  will  veritably,  if  he  get  orders,  draw  out  a 
long  sword  and  kill  me.  No  mistake  there.  He  is  a  fact  and 
not  a  shadow.  Alive  in  this  Year  Forty-three,  able  and  will- 
ing to  do  his  work.  In  dim  old  centuries,  with  William 
Kufus,  William  of  Ipres,  or  far  earlier,  he  began  ;  and  has 
come  down  safe  so  far.  Catapult  has  given  place  to  cannon, 
pike  has  given  place  to  musket,  iron  mail-shirt  to  coat  of  red 
cloth,  saltpetre  ropematch  to  percussion  cap  ;  equipments, 
circumstances  have  all  changed,  and  again  changed  :  but  the 
human  battle-engine,  in  the  inside  of  any  or  of  each  of  these, 
ready  still  to  do  battle,  stands  there,  six  feet  in  standard  size. 
There  are  Pay- Offices,  Woolwich  Arsenals,  there  is  a  Horse- 
Guards,  War-Office,  Captain -General  :  persuasive  Sergeants, 
with  tap  of  drum,  recruit  in  market-towns  and  villages  ; — and, 
on  the  whole,  I  say,  here  is  your  actual  drilled  fighting-man  ; 
here  are  your  actual  Ninety-thousand  of  such,  ready  to  go 
into  any  quarter  of  the  world  and  fight ! 

Strange,  interesting,  and  yet  most  mournful  to  reflect  on. 
Was  this,  then,  of  all  the  things  mankind  had  some  talent  for, 
the  one  thing  important  to  learn  well,  and  bring  to  perfec- 
tion ;  this  of  successfully  killing  one  another  ?  Truly  you 
have  learned  it  well,  and  carried  the  business  to  a  high  per- 
fection. It  is  incalculable  what,  by  arranging,  commanding 
and  regimenting,  you  can  make  of  men.  These  thousand 
straight-standing  firmset  individuals,  who  shoulder  arms,  who 
march,  wheel,  advance,  retreat  ;  and  are,  for  your  behoof,  a 
magazine  charged  with  fiery  death,  in  the  most  perfect  eondi- 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


253 


iion  of  potential  activity :  few  months  ago,  till  the  persuasive 
sergeant  came,  what  were  they  ?  Multiform  ragged  losels, 
runaway  apprentices,  starved  weavers,  thievish  valets  ;  an  en- 
tirely broken  population,  fast  tending  towards  the  treadmill. 
Bat  the  persuasive  sergeant  came  ;  by  tap  of  drum  enlisted, 
or  formed  lists  of  them,  took  heartily  to  drilling  them  ; — and 
he  and  you  have  made  them  this  !  Most  potent,  effectual  for 
all  work  whatsoever,  is  wise  planning,  firm  combining  and 
commanding  among  men.  Let  no  man  despair  of  Govern- 
ments who  look  on  these  two  sentries  at  the  Horse-Guards, 
and  our  United-Service  Clubs !  I  could  conceive  an  Emigra- 
tion Service,  a  Teaching  Service,  considerable  varieties  of 
United  and  Separate  Services,  of  the  due  thousands  strong,  all 
effective  as  this  Fighting  Service  is ;  all  doing  their  work,  like 
it  ; — which  work,  much  more  than  fighting,  is  henceforth  the 
necessity  of  these  New  Ages  we  are  got  into !  Much  lies 
among  us,  convulsively,  nigh  desperately  straggling  to  be  born. 

But  mean  Governments,  as  mean-limited  individuals  do, 
have  stood  by  the  physically  indispensable  ;  have  realised  that 
and  nothing  more.  The  Soldier  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
difficult  things  to  realise  ;  but  Governments,  had  they  not 
realised  him,  could  not  have  existed  :  accordingly  he  is  here. 
O  Heavens  if  we  saw  an  army  ninety-thousand  strong,  main- 
tained and  fully  equipt,  in  continual  real  action  and  battle 
against  Human  Starvation,  against  Chaos,  Necessity,  Stu- 
pidity, and  our  real  'natural  enemies,'  what  a  business  were 
it !  Fighting  and  molesting  not  6  the  French,'  who,  poor  men, 
have  a  hard  enough  battle  of  their  own  in  the  like  kind,  and 
need  no  additional  molesting  from  us  ;  but  fighting  and  in- 
cessantly spearing  down  and  destroying  Falsehood,  Nescience, 
Delusion,  Disorder,  and  the  Devil  and  his  Angels  !  Thou 
thyself,  cultivated  reader,  hast  done  something  in  that  alone 
true  warfare  ;  but,  alas,  under  what  circumstances  was  it  ? 
Thee  no  beneficent  drill-sergeant,  with  any  effectiveness,  would 
rank  in  line  beside  thy  fellows  ;  train,  like  a  true  didactic  ar- 
tist, by  the  wit  of  all  past  experience,  to  do  thy  soldiering  : 
encourage  thee  when  right,  punish  thee  when  wrong,  and 
everywhere  with  wise  word-of-command  say,  Forward  on  this 


254: 


HOROSCOPE. 


hand,  Forward  on  that !  Ah,  no  :  thou  hadst  to  learn  thy 
emall-sword  and  platoon  exercise  where  and  how  thou  couldst ; 
to  all  mortals  but  thyself  it  was  indifferent  whether  thou 
shouldst  ever  learn  it.  And  the  rations,  and  shilling  a  day, 
were  they  provided  thee, — reduced  as  I  have  known  brave 
Jean-Pauls,  learning  their  exercise,  to  live  on  '  water  without 
the  bread  ?  '  The  rations  ;  or  any  furtherance  of  promotion 
to  corporalship,  lance-corporalship,  or  due  cat-o'-nine  tails, 
with  the  slightest  reference  to  thy  deserts  were  not  provided. 
Forethought,  even  as  of  a  pipe- clayed  drill-sergeant,  did  not 
preside  over  thee.  To  corporalship,  lance-corporalship,  thou 
didst  attain  ;  alas,  also  to  the  halberts  and  cat ;  but  thy  re- 
warder  and  punisher  seemed  blind  as  the  Deluge  ;  neither 
lance-corporalship,  nor  even  drummer's  cat,  because  both  ap- 
peared delirious,  brought  thee  due  profit. 

It  was  well,  all  this,  we  know ; — and  yet  it  was  not  well ! 
Forty  soldiers,  I  am  told,  will  disperse  the  largest  Spitalfields 
mob :  forty  to  ten-thousand,  that  is  the  proportion  between 
drilled  and  undrilled.  Much  there  is  which  cannot  yet  be 
organised  in  this  world  ;  but  somewhat  also  which  can,  some  - 
what also  which  must.  When  one  thinks,  for  example,  what 
Books  are  become  and  becoming  for  us,  what  Operative  Lan- 
cashires  are  become  ;  what  a  Fourth  Estate,  and  innumera- 
ble Virtualities  not  yet  got  to  be  Actualities  are  become  and 
becoming, — one  sees  Organisms  enough  in  the  dim  huge 
Future  ;  and  '  United  Services '  quite  other  than  the  redcoat 
one  ;  and  much,  even  in  these  years,  struggling  to  be  born  ! 

Of  Time-Bill,  Factory-Bill  and  other  such  Bills  the  present 
Editor  has  no  authority  to  speak.  He  knows  not,  it  is  for 
others  than  him  to  know,  in  wrhat  specific  ways  it  may  be 
feasible  to  interfere,  with  Legislation,  between  the  Workers 
and  the  Master- Workers  ; — knows  only  and  sees,  what  all  men 
are  beginning  to  see,  that  Legislative  interference,  and  inter- 
ferences not  a  few  are  indispensable  ;  that  as  a  lawless  an- 
archy of  supply-and-demand,  on  market-wages  alone,  this 
province  of  things  cannot  longer  be  left.  Nay  interference 
has  begun  :  there  are  already  Factory  Inspectors, — who  seem 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


255 


to  have  no  lack  of  work.  Perhaps  there  might  be  Mine-In- 
spectors too : — might  there  not  be  Furrowfield  Inspectors 
withal,  and  ascertain  for  us  how  on  seven  and  sixpence  a  week  */ 
a  human  family  does  live  !  Interference  has  begun  ;  it  must 
continue,  must  extensively  enlarge  itself,  deepen  and  sharpen 
itself.  Such  things  cannot  longer  be  idly  lapped  in  darkness, 
and  suffered  to  go  on  unseen  :  the  Heavens  do  see  them  ; 
the  curse,  not  the  blessing  of  the  Heavens  is  on  an  Earth  that 
refuses  to  see  them. 

Again,  are  not  Sanitary  Eegulations  possible  for  a  Legisla- 
ture ?  The  old  Bo  mans  had  their  iEdiles  ;  who  would,  I 
think,  in  direct  contravention  to  supply-and-demand,  have 
rigorously  seen  rammed  up  into  total  abolition  many  a  foul 
cellar  in  our  South warks,  Saint-Gileses,  and  dark  poison-lanes  ; 
saying  sternly,  "  Shall  a  Koman  man  dwell  there?"  The  Leg- 
islature, at  whatever  cost  of  consequences,  would  have  had 
to  answer,  "  God  forbid  ! " — The  Legislature,  even  as  it  now 
is,  could  order  all  dingy  Manufacturing  Towns  to  cease  from 
their  soot  and  darkness  ;  to  let  in  the  blessed  sunlight,  the 
blue  of  Heaven,  and  become  clear  and  clean  ;  to  burn  their 
coal-smoke,  namely,  and  make  flame  of  it.  Baths,  free  air,  a 
wholesome  temperature,  ceilings  twenty  feet  high,  might  be 
ordained,  by  Act  of  Parliament,  in  all  establishments  licensed 
as  Mills.  There  are  such  Mills  already  extant ; — honour  to 
the  builders  of  them  !  The  Legislature  can  say  to  others : 
Go  ye  and  do  likewise  ;  better  if  you  can. 

Every  toiling  Manchester,  its  smoke  and  soot  all  burnt, 
ought  it  not,  among  so  many  world-wide  conquests,  to  have  a 
hundred  acres  or  so  of  free  greenfield,  with  trees  on  it,  con- 
quered, for  its  little  children  to  disport  in  ;  for  its  all  conquer- 
ing workers  to  take  a  breath  of  twilight  air  in  ?  You  would 
say  so  !  A  willing  Legislature  could  say  so  with  effect.  A 
willing  Legislature  could  say  very  many  things  !  And  to 
whatsoever  'vested  interest/  or  such  like,  stood  up,  gainsay- 
ing merely,  "I  shall  lose  profits," — the  willing  Legislature 
would  answer,  "Yes,  but  my  sons  and  daughters  will  gain 
health,  and  life,  and  a  soul." — "What  is  to  become  of  our 
Cotton-trade?"  cried  certain  Spinners,  when  the  Factory-Bill 


256 


HOROSCOPE. 


was  proposed  ;  "  What  is  to  become  of  our  invaluable  Cotton- 
trade?"  The  Humanity  of  England  answered  stedfastly : 
' £  Deliver  me  these  rickety  perishing  souls  of  infants,  and  let 
your  Cotton-trade  take  its  chance.  God  Himself  commands 
the  one  thing  ;  not  God  especially  the  other  thing.  We  can- 
not have  prosperous  Cotton-trades  at  the  expense  of  keeping 
the  Devil  a  partner  in  them  !  " — 

Bills  enough,  were  the  Corn-Law  Abrogation  Bill  once 
passed,  and  a  Legislature  willing !  Nay  this  one  Bill,  which 
lies  yet  unenacted,  a  right  Education  Bill,  is  not  this  of  itself 
the  sure  parent  of  innumerable  wise  Bills, — wise  regulations, 
practical  methods  and  proposals,  gradually  ripening  towards 
the  state  of  Bills  ?  To  irradiate  wTith  intelligence,  that  is  to 
say,  with  order,  arrangement  and  all  blessedness,  the  Chaotic, 
Unintelligent :  how,  except  by  educating,  can  you  accomplish 
this?  That  thought,  reflection,  articulate  utterance  and  un- 
derstanding be  awakened  in  these  individual  million  heads, 
which  are  the  atoms  of  your  Chaos  :  there  is  no  other  way  of 
illuminating  any  Chaos  !  The  sum-total  of  intelligence  that  is 
found  in  it,  determines  the  extent  of  order  that  is  possible  for 
your  Chaos, — the  feasibility  and  rationality  of  what  your 
Chaos  will  dimly  demand  from  you,  and  will  gladly  obey 
when  proposed  by  you !  It  is  an  exact  equation  ;  the  one 
accurately  measures  the  other. — If  the  whole  English  People, 
during  these  'twenty  years  of  respite/  be  not  educated,  with 
at  least  schoolmaster's  educating,  a  tremendous  responsibility, 
before  God  and  men,  will  rest  somewhere  !  How  dare  aiiy 
man,  especially  a  man  calling  himself  minister  of  God,  stand 
up  in  any  Parliament  or  place,  under  any  pretext  or  delusion, 
and  for  a  day  or  an  hour  forbid  God's  Light  to  come  into  the 
world,  and  bid  the  Devil's  Darkness  continue  in  it  one  hour 
more  !  For  all  light  and  science,  under  all  shapes,  in  all  de- 
grees of  perfection,  is  of  God  ;  all  darkness,  nescience,  is  of 
the  Enemy  of  God.  e  The  schoolmaster's  creed  is  somewhat 
awry  ?  '  Yes,  I  have  found  few  creeds  entirely  correct ;  few 
light-beams  shining  white,  pure  of  admixture :  but  of  all 
creeds  and  religions  now  or  ever  before  known,  was  not 
that  of  thoughtless  thriftless  Animalism,  of  Distilled  Gin,  and 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


257 


Stupor  and  Despair,  unspeakably  the  least  orthodox?  We 
will  exchange  it  even  with  Paganism,  with  Fetishism  ;  and,  on 
the  whole,  must  exchange  it  with  something. 

An  effective  6  Teaching  Service '  I  do  consider  that  there 
must  be ;  some  Education  Secretary,  Captain-General  of 
Teachers,  who  will  actually  contrive  to  get  us  taught.  Then 
again,  why  should  there  not  be  an  '  Emigration  Service/  and 
Secretary,  wTith  adjuncts,  with  funds,  forces,  idle  Navy-ships, 
and  ever-increasing  apparatus  ;  in  fine  an  effective  system  of 
Emigration;  so  that,  at  length,  before  our  twenty  years  of 
respite  ended,  every  honest  willing  Workman  who  found 
England  too  strait,  and  the  c  Organisation  of  Labour '  not  yet 
sufficiently  advanced,  might  find  likewise  a  bridge  built  to 
carry  him  into  new  Western  Lands,  there  to  '  organise  '  with 
more  elbow-room  some  labour  for  himself  ?  There  to  be  a  real 
blessing,  raising  new  corn  for  us,  purchasing  new  webs  and 
hatchets  from  us  ;  leaving  us  at  least  in  peace  ; — instead  of 
staying  here  to  be  a  Physical-Force  Chartist,  unblessed  and  no 
blessing  !  Is  it  not  scandalous  to  consider  that  a  Prime  Min- 
ister could  raise  within  the  year,  as  I  have  seen  it  done  a 
Hundred  and  Twenty  Millions  sterling  to  shoot  the  French  ; 
and  we  are  stopt  short  for  want  of  the  hundredth  part  of  that 
to  keep  the  English  living  ?  The  bodies  of  the  English  liv- 
ing ;  and  the  souls  of  English  living  : — these  two  '  Services/ 
an  Education  Service  and  an  Emigration  Service,  these  with 
others  will  actually  have  to  be  organised ! 

A  free  bridge  for  Emigrants  :  why,  we  should  then  be  on  a 
par  with  America  itself,  the  most  favoured  of  all  lands  that 
have  no  government ;  and  we  should  have,  besides,  so  many 
traditions  and  mementos  of  priceless  things  which  America 
has  cast  away.  We  could  proceed  deliberately  to  '  organise 
Labour/  not  doomed  to  perish  unless  we  effected  it  with  in 
year  and  day  ; — every  willing  Worker  that  proved  superfluous, 
finding  a  bridge  ready  for  him.  This  verily  will  have  to  be 
done ;  the  Time  is  big  with  this.  Our  little  Isle  is  grown  too 
narrow  for  us  ;  but  the  world  is  wide  enough  yet  for  another 
Six  Thousand  Years.  England's  sure  markets  will  be  among 
new  Colonies  of  Englishmen  in  all  quarters  of  the  Globe.  All 
17 


258 


HOROSCOPE. 


man  trade  with  all  men,  when  mutually  convenient ;  and  are 
even  bound  to  do  it  by  the  Maker  of  men.  Our  friends  of 
China,  who  guiltily  refused  to  trade,  in  these  circumstances, — 
had  we  not  to  argue  with  them,  in  cannon-shot  at  last,  and 
convince  them  that  they  ought  to  trade  !  '  Hostile  Tariffs '  will 
arise,  to  shut  us  out  ;  and  then  again  will  fall,  to  let  us  in : 
but  the  Sons  of  England,  speakers  of  the  English  language 
were  it  nothing  more,  will  in  all  times  have  the  ineradicable 
predisposition  to  trade  with  England.  Mycale  was  the  Pan- 
Ionion,  rendezvous  of  all  the  Tribes  of  Ion,  for  old  Greece  : 
why  should  not  London  long  continue  the  All-Saxon-home, 
rendezvous  of  all  the  '  Children  of  the  Harz-Eock/  arriving, 
in  select  samples,  from  the  Antipodes  and  elsewhere,  by  steam 
and  otherwise,  to  the  £  season  '  here  ! — "What  a  Future  ;  wide 
as  the  world,  if  we  have  the  heart  and  heroism  for  it,— which, 
by  Heaven's  blessing  we  shall : 

1  Keep  not  standing  fixed  and  rooted, 
Briskly  venture,  briskly  roam  ; 
Head  and  hand,  where'er  thou  foot  it, 
And  stout  heart  are  still  at  home. 

In  what  land  the  sun  does  visit, 
Brisk  are  we,  whate'er  betide  : 
To  give  space  for  wandering  is  it 
That  the  world  was  made  so  wide.'  * 

Fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  it  was  by  a  considerable  '  Emi- 
gration Service/  never  doubt  it,  by  much  enlistment,  discus- 
sion and  apparatus,  that  we  ourselves  arrived  in  this  remarka- 
ble Island, — and  got  into  our  present  difficulties  among  others ! 

It  is  true  the  English  Legislature,  like  the  English  People, 
is  of  slow  temper  ;  essentially  conservative.  In  our  wildest 
periods  of  reform,  in  the  Long  Parliament  itself,  you  notice 
always  the  invincible  instinct  to  hold  fast  by  the  Old ;  to  ad- 
mit the  minimum  of  New  ;  to  expand,  if  it  be  possible,  some 
old  habit  or  method,  already  found  fruitful,  into  new  growth 

*  Goethe,  Wilhelm  Mesiter. 


THE  ONE  INSTITUTION. 


259 


for  the  new  need.  It  is  an  instinct  worthy  of  all  honour  ;  akin 
to  all  strength  and  all  wisdom.  The  Future  hereby  is  not  dis- 
severed from  the  Past,  but  based  continuously  on  it ;  grows 
with  all  the  vitalities  of  the  Past,  and  is  rooted  down  deep 
into  the  beginnings  of  us.  The  English  Legislature  is  entirely 
repugnant  to  believe  in  '  new  epochs.'  The  English  Legisla- 
ture does  not  occupy  itself  with  epochs;  has,  indeed,  other 
business  to  do  than  looking  at  the  Time-Horologe  and  hear- 
ing it  tick  !  Nevertheless  new  epochs  do  actually  come ;  and 
with  them  new  imperious  peremptory  necessities ;  so  that 
even  an  English  Legislature  has  to  look  up,  and  admit,  though 
with  reluctance,  that  the  hour  has  struck.  The  hour  having 
struck,  let  us  not  say  '  impossible  ; ' — it  will  have  to  be  possi- 
ble !  '  Contrary  to  the  habits  of  Parliament,  the  habits  of 
Government?'  Yes  :  but  did  any  Parliament  or  Government 
ever  sit  in  a  Year  Forty-three  before  ?  One  of  the  most  orig- 
inal, unexampled  years  and  epochs  ;  in  several  important  re- 
spects, totally  unlike  any  other  !  For  Time,  all-edacious  and 
all-feracious,  does  run  on  :  and  the  Seven  Sleepers,  awakening 
hungry .  after  a  hundred  years,  find  that  it  is  not  their  old 
nurses  who  can  now  give  them  suck  ! 

For  the  rest,  let  not  any  Parliament,  Aristocracy,  Milloc- 
racy,  or  Member  of  the  Governing  Class,  condemn  with  much 
triumph  this  small  specimen  of  'remedial  measures  ;'  or  ask 
again,  with  the  least  anger,  of  this  Editor,  What  is  to  be  done, 
How  that  alarming  problem  of  the  Working  Classes  is  to  be 
managed  ?  Editors  are  not  here,  foremost  of  all,  to  say  How. 
A  certain  Editor  thanks  the  gods  that  nobody  pays  him  three 
hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  two  hundred  thousand, 
twenty  thousand,  or  any  similar  sum  of  cash  for  saying  How : 
— that  his  wages  are  very  different,  his  work  somewhat  fitter 
for  him.  An  Editor's  stipulated  work  is  to  apprise  thee  that 
it  must  be  done.  The  cway  to  do  it,' — is  to  try  it,  knowing 
that  thou  shalt  die  if  it  be  not  done.  There  is  the  bare  back, 
there  is  the  web  of  cloth  ;  thou  shalt  cut  me  a  coat  to  cover 
the  bare  back,  thou  whose  trade  it  is.  c  Impossible  ? '  Hap- 
less Fraction,  dost  thou  discern  Fate  there,  half  unveiling 
l*erself  in  the  gloom  of  the  future,  with  her  gibbet-cords,  her 


260 


HOROSCOPE. 


steel-whips,  and  very  authentic  Tailor's  Hell ;  waiting  to  see 
whether  it  is  '  possible  ? '  Out  with  thy  scissors,  and  cut  that 
cloth  or  thy  own  windpipe  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY. 

If  I  believed  that  Mammonism  with  its  adjuncts  was  to  con- 
tinue henceforth  the  one  serious  principle  of  our  existence,  *I 
should  reckon  it  idle  to  solicit  remedial  measures  from  any 
Government,  the  disease  being  insusceptible  of  remedy. 
Government  can  do  much,  but  it  can  in  no  wise  do  all.  Gov- 
ernment, as  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  Society,  is  called 
upon  to  give  signal  of  what  shall  be  done  ;  and,  in  many  ways, 
to  preside  over,  further,  and  command  the  doing  of  it.  But 
the  Government  cannot  do,  by  all  its  signalling  and  command- 
ing, what  the  Society  is  radically  indisposed  to  do.  In  the 
long-run  every  Government  is  the  exact  symbol  of  its  People, 
with  their  wisdom  and  unwisdom  ;  we  have  to  say,  Like  People 
like  Government. — The  main  substance  of  this  immense  Prob- 
lem of  Organising  Labour,  and  first  of  all  of  Managing  the 
Working  Classes,  will,  it  is  very  clear,  have  to  be  solved  by 
those  who  stand  practically  in  the  middle  of  it ;  by  those  who 
themselves  work  and  preside  over  work.  Of  all  that  can  be 
enacted  by  any  Parliament  in  regard  to  it,  the  germs  must 
already  lie  potentially  extant  in  those  two  Classes,  who  are  to 
obey  such  enactment.  A  human  Chaos  in  which  there  is  no 
light,  you  vainly  attempt  to  irradiate  by  light  shed  on  it ;  or- 
der never  can  arise  there. 

But  it  is  my  firm  conviction  that  the  '  Hell  of  England ' 
will  cease  to  be  that  of  £  not  making  money  ; '  that  we  shall 
get  a  nobler  Hell  and  a  nobler  Heaven  !  I  anticipate  light  in 
the  Human  Chaos,  glimmering,  shining  more  and  more ; 
under  manifold  true  signals  from  without  That  light  shall 
shine.  Our  deity  no  longer  being  Mammon, — O  Heavens, 
each  man  will  then  say  to  himself :  "  Why  such  deadly  haste 
to  make  money  ?    I  shall  not  go  to  Hell,  even  if  I  do  not 


CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY. 


201 


make  money  !  There  is  another  Hell,  I  am  told  !  "  Compe- 
tition, at  railway-speed,  in  all  branches  of  commerce  and  work 
will  then  abate  : — good  felt-hats  for  the  head,  in  every  sense, 
instead  of  seven-feet  lath-and-plaster  hats  on  wheels,  will  then 
be  discoverable  !  Bubble  periods,  with  their  panics  and  com- 
mercial crises,  will  again  become  infrequent ;  steady  modest 
industry  will  take  the  place  of  gambling  speculation.  To  be 
a  noble  Master,  among  noble  Workers,  will  again  be  the  first 
ambition  with  some  few  ;  to  be  a  rich  Master  only  the  second. 
How  the  Inventive  Genius  of  England,  with  the  whirr  of  its 
bobbins  and  billy-rollers  shoved  somewhat  into  the  back- 
grounds of  the  braiii,  will  contrive  and  devise,  not  cheaper 
produce  exclusively,  but  fairer  distribution  of  the  produce  at 
its  present  cheapness !  By  degrees,  we  shall  again  have  a 
Society  with  something  of  Heroism  in  it,  something  of 
Heaven's  Blessing  on  it ;  we  shall  again  have,  as  my  German 
friend  asserts,  '  instead  of  Mammon-Feudalism  with  unsold 
-  cotton-shirts  and  Preservation  of  the  Game,  noble  just  In- 
*  dustrialism  and  Government  by  the  Wisest ! ' 

It  is  with  the  hope  of  awakening  here  and  there  a  British 
man  to  know  himself  for  a  man  and  divine  soul,  that  a  few 
words  of  parting  admonition,  to  all  persons  to  whom  the 
Heavenly  Powers  have  lent  power  of  any  kind  in  this  land, 
may  now  be  addressed.  And  first  to  those  same  Master- 
Workers,  Leaders  of  Industry  ;  who  stand  nearest,  and  in 
fact  powerfulest,  though  not  most  prominent,  being  as  yet  in 
too  many  senses  a  Yirtuality  rather  than  an  Actuality. 

The  Leaders  of  Industry,  if  Industry  is  ever  to  be  led,  are 
virtually  the  Captains  of  the  World  ;  if  there  be  no  nobleness 
in  them,  there  will  never  be  an  Aristocracy  more.  But  let 
the  Captains  of  Industry  consider  :  once  again,  are  they  born 
of  other  clay  than  the  old  Captains  of  Slaughter  ;  doomed 
forever  to  be  no  Chivalry,  but  a  mere  gold-plated  Doggery, — 
what  the  French  well  name  Canaille,  c Doggery '  with  more 
or  less  gold  carrion  at  its  disposal  ?  Captains  of  Industry  are 
the  true  Fighters,  henceforth  recognisable,  as  the  only  true 
ones  :  Fighters  against  Chaos,  Necessity  and  the  Devils  and 


262 


HOROSCOPE. 


Jotuns ;  and  lead  on  Mankind  in  that  great,  and  alone  true, 
and  universal  warfare  ;  the  stars  in  their  courses  fighting  for 
them,  and  all  Heaven  and  all  Earth  saying  audibly.  Well- 
done  !  Let  the  Captains  of  Industry  retire  into  their  own 
hearts,  and  ask  solemnly,  If  there  is  nothing  but  vulturous 
hunger,  for  fine  wines,  valet  reputation  and  gilt  carriages, 
discoverable  there  ?  Of  hearts  made  by  the  Almighty  God  I 
will  not  believe  such  a  thing.  Deep-hidden  under  wretch- 
edest  godforgetting  Cants,  Epicurisms,  Dead-Sea  Apisms ; 
forgotten  as  under  foulest  fat  Lethe  mud  and  weeds,  there  is 
yet,  in  all  hearts  born  into  this  God's- World,  a  spark  of  the 
God -like  slumbering.  Awake,  O  nightmare  sleepers  ;  awake, 
arise,  or  be  forever  fallen  !  This  is  not  playhouse  poetry  ;  it 
is  sober  fact.  Our  England,  our  world  cannot  live  as  it  is. 
It  will  connect  itself  with  a  God  again,  or  go  down  with 
nameless  throes  and  fire-consummation  to  the  Devils.  Thou 
who  feelest  aught  of  such  a  God-like  stirring  in  thee,  any 
faintest  intimation  of  it,  as  through  heavy-laden  dreams, 
follow  it,  I  conjure  thee.  Arise,  save  thyself,  be  one  of  those 
that  save  thy  country. 

Bucaniers,  Chactaw  Indians,  whose  supreme  aim  in  fighting 
is, that  they  may  get  the  scalps,  the  money,  that  they  may  amass 
scalps  and  money  :  out  of  such  came  no  Chivalry,  and  never 
will !  Out  of  such  came  only  gore  and  wreck,  infernal  rage 
and  misery ;  desperation  quenched  in  annihilation.  Behold 
it,  I  bid  thee,  behold  there,  and  consider  !  What  is  it  that 
thou  have  a  hundred  thousand-pound  bills  laid  up  in  thy 
strong-rooms,  a  hundred  scalps  hung  up  in  thy  wigwam  ?  I 
value  not  them  or  thee.  Thy  scalps  and  thy  thousand-pound 
bills  are  as  yet  nothing,  if  no  nobleness  from  within  irradiate 
them  ;  if  no  Chivalry,  in  action,  or  in  embryo  ever  struggling 
towards  birth  and  action,  be  there. 

Love  of  men  cannot  be  bought  by  cash-payment ;  and  with- 
out love,  men  cannot  endure  to  be  together.  You  cannot 
lead  a  Fighting  World  without  having  it  regimented,  chiv- 
alried  :  the  thing  in  a  day  becomes  impossible  ;  all  men  in  it, 
the  highest  at  first,  the*  very  lowest  at  last,  discern  con- 
sciously, or  by  a  noble  instinct,  this  necessity.    And  ©an  you 


CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY. 


263 


any  more  continue  to  lead  a  Working  World  unregimented, 
anarchic  ?  I  answer,  and  the  Heavens  and  Earth  are  now  an- 
swering, No  !  The  thing  becomes  not  '  in  a  day  '  impossible  ; 
but  in  some  two  generations  it  does.  Yes,  when  fathers  atid 
mothers,  in  Stockport  hunger-cellars,  begin  to  eat  their 
children  and  Irish  widows  have  to  prove  their  relationship 
by  dying  of  typhus-fever  ;  and  amid  Governing  6  Corporations 
of  the  Best  and  Bravest/  busy  to  preserve  their  game  by 
'  bushing,'  dark  millions  of  God's  human  creatures  start  up  in 
mad  Chartisms,  impracticable  Sacred-Months,  and  Manchester 
Insurrections  ;  and  there  is  a  virtual  Industrial  Aristocracy  as 
yet  only  half-alive,  spell-bound  amid  money-bags  and  ledgers  ; 
and  an  actual  Idle  Aristocracy  seemingly  near  dead  in  som- 
nolent delusions,  in  trespasses  and  double-barrels  ;  6  sliding/ 
as  on  inclined  planes,  which  every  new  year  they  soap  with 
new  Hansard's- jargon  under  God's  sky,  and  so  are  4  sliding ' 
ever  faster,  towards  a  £  scale '  and  balance-scale  whereon  is 
written  Thou  art  found  Wanting  : — in  such  days,  after  a  gener- 
ation or  two,  I  say,  it  does  become,  even  to  the  low  and  sim- 
ple, very  palpably  impossible!  No  Working  World,  any  more 
than  a  Fighting  World,  can  be  led  on  without  a  noble 
Chivalry  of  Work,  and  laws  and  fixed  rules  which  follow  out 
of  that, — far  nobler  than  any  Chivalry  of  Fighting  was.  As 
an  anarchic  multitude  on  mere  Supply-and-demand,  it  is  be- 
coming inevitable  that  we  dwindle  in  horrid  suicidal  convul- 
sion, and  self-abrasion,  frightful  to  the  imagination,  into 
Chactaw  Workers.  With  wigwams  and  scalps, — with  palaces 
and  thousand-pound  bills ;  with  savagery,  depopulation,  chaotic 
desolation  !  Good  Heavens,  will  not  one  French  Kevolution 
and  Reign  of  Terror  suffice  us,  but  must  there  be  two? 
There  will  be  two  if  needed  ;  there  will  be  twenty  if  needed  ; 
there  will  be  precisely  as  many  as  are  needed.  The  Laws  of 
Nature  will  have  themselves  fulfilled.  That  is  a  thing  certain 
to  me. 

Your  gallant  battle-hosts,  and  work-hosts,  as  the  others  did, 
will  need  to  be  made  loyally  yours  ;  they  must  and  will  be 
regulated,  methodically  secured  in  their  just  share  of  conquest 
under  you ; — joined  with  you  in  veritable  brotherhood,  son- 


2G4 


HOROSCOPE. 


hood,  by  quite  other  and  deeper  ties  than  those  of  temporary 
day's  wages  !  How  would  mere  red-coated  regiments,  to  s.iy 
nothing  of  chivalries,  fight  for  you,  if  you  could  discharge 
them  on  the  evening  of  the  battle,  on  payment  of  the  stipulat- 
ed shillings, — and  they  discharge  you  on  the  morning  of  it ! 
Chelsea  Hospitals,  pensions,  promotions,  rigorous  lasting  cov- 
enant on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other,  are  indispensable  even 
for  a  hired  fighter.  The  Feudal  Baron,  much  more,— how 
could  he  subsist  wTith  mere  temporary  mercenaries  round  him, 
at  sixpence  a  day  ;  ready  to  go  over  to  the  other  side,  if  seven- 
pence  were  offered  ?  He  could  not  have  subsisted  ; — and  his 
noble  instinct  saved  him  from  the  necessity  of  even  trying  ! 
The  Feudal  Baron  had  a  Man's  Soul  in  him  !  to  which  anarchy, 
mutiny,  and  the  other  fruits  of  temporary  mercenaries,  were 
intolerable  :  he  had  never  been  a  Biron  otherwise,  but  had 
continued  a  Chactaw  and  Bucanier.  He  felt  it  precious,  and  at 
last  it  became  habitual,  and  his  fruitful  enlarged  existence  in- 
cluded it  as  a  necessity,  to  have  men  round  him  who  in  heart 
loved  him  ;  whose  life  he  watched  over  with  rigour  yet  with 
love  ;  who  were  prepared  to  give  their  life  for  him,  if  need 
came.  It  was  beautiful ;  it  was  human  !  Man  lives  not  other- 
wise, nor  can  live  contented,  anywhere  or  any  when.  Isolation 
is  the  sum-total  of  wretchedness  to  man.  To  be  cut  off,  to  be 
left  solitary  :  to  have  a  world  alien,  not  your  world  ;  all  a  hos- 
tile camp  for  you  ;  not  a  home  at  all,  of  hearts  and  faces  who 
are  yours,  whose  you  are  !  It  is  the  frightfulest  enchantment ; 
too  truly  a  work  of  the  Evil  One.  To  have  neither  superior, 
nor  inferior,  nor  equal,  united  manlike  to  you.  Without  father, 
without  child,  without  brother.  Man  knows  no  sadder  des- 
tiny. '  How  is  each  of  us/  exclaims  Jean  Paul,  '  so  lonely,  in 
the  wide  bosom  of  the  All ! '  Encased  each  as  in  his  trans- 
parent '  ice-palace  ; '  our  brother  visible  in  his,  making  signals 
and  gesticulations  to  us ; — visible,  but  forever  unattainable  : 
on  his  bosom  we  shall  never  rest,  nor  he  on  ours.  It  was  not 
a  God  that  did  this  ;  no  ! 

Awake,  ye  noble  Workers,  warriors  in  the  one  true  war  :  all 
this  must  be  remedied.  It  is  you  who  are  already  half -alive, 
whom  I  will  welcome  into  life  ;  whom  I  will  conjure  in  God's 


CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY. 


205 


name  to  shake  off  your  enchanted  sleep,  and  live  wholly  ! 
Cease  to  count  scalps,  gold-purses  ;  not  in  these  lies  your  or 
our  salvation.  Even  these,  if  you  count  only  these,  will  not  long 
be  left.  Let  bucaniering  be  put  far  from  you ;  alter,  speed- 
ily abrogate  all  laws  of  the  bucaniers,  if  you  would  gain  any 
victory  that  shall  endure.  Let  God's  justice,  let  pity,  noble- 
ness and  manly  valour,  with  more  gold-purses  or  with  fewer, 
testify  themselves  in  this  your  brief  Life-transit  to  all  the 
Eternities,  the  Gods  and  Silences.  It  is  to  you  I  call ;  for  ye 
are  not  dead,  ye  are  already  half-alive  :  there  is  in  you  a  sleep^ 
less  dauntless  energy,  the  prime-matter  of  all  nobleness  in 
man.  Honour  to  you  in  your  kind.  It  is  to  you  I  call :  ye 
know  at  least  this,  That  the  mandate  of  God  to  His  creature 
man  is  :  Work !  The  future  Epic  of  the  World  rests  not  with 
those  that  are  near  dead,  but  with  those  that  are  alive,  and 
those  that  are  coming  into  life. 

Look  around  you.  Your  world-hosts  are  all  in  mutiny,  in 
confusion,  destitution  ;  on  the  eve  of  fiery  wreck  and  mad- 
ness !  They  will  .not  march  farther  for  you,  on  the  sixpence 
a  day  and  supply-and-demand  principle  :  they  will  not ;  nor 
ought  they,  nor  can  they.  Ye  shall  reduce  them  to  order, 
begin  reducing  them.  To  order,  to  just  subordination  ;  noble 
loyalty  in  return  for  noble  guidance.  Their  souls  are  driven 
nigh  mad  ;  let  yours  be  sane  and  ever  saner.  Not  as  a  bewil- 
dered bewildering  mob  ;  but  as  a  firm  regimented  mass,  with 
real  captains  over  them,  will  these  men  march  any  more.  All 
human  interests,  combined  human  endeavours,  and  social 
growths  in  this  world,  have,  at  a  certain  stage  of  their  develop- 
ment, required  organising  :  and  Work,  the  grandest  of  human 
interests,  does  now  require  it. 

God  knows,  the  task  will  be  hard  :  but  no  noble  task  was 
ever  easy.  This  task  will  wear  away  your  lives,  and  the  lives 
of  your  sons  and  grandsons  :  but  for  what  purpose,  if  not  for 
tasks  like  this,  were  lives  given  to  men  ?  Ye  shall  cease  to 
count  your  thousand-pound  scalps,  the  noble  of  you  shall 
cease  !  Nay  the  very  scalps,  as  I  say,  will  not  long  be  left  if 
you  count  only  these.  Ye  shall  cease  wholly  to  be  barbar- 
ous vulturous  Chactaws,  and  become  noble  European  Nine- 


2GG 


HOROSCOPE. 


teenth-Century  Men.  Ye  shall  know  that  Mammon,  in  nevei 
such  gigs  and  flunkey  c  respectabilities/  is  not  the  alone  God  ; 
that  of  himself  he  is  but  a  Devil,  and  even  a  Brute-god. 

Difficult  ?  Yes,  it  will  be  difficult.  The  short-fibre  Cotton  ; 
that  too  was  difficult.  The  waste  cotton-shrub,  long  useless, 
disobedient,  as  the  thistle  by  the  wayside, — have  ye  not  con- 
quered it ;  made  it  into  beautiful  bandana  webs  ;  white  woven 
shirts  for  men  ;  bright-tinted  air-garments  wherein  flit  god- 
desses ?  Ye  have  shivered  mountains  asunder,  made  the  hard 
iron  pliant  to  you  as  soft  putty :  the  Forest-giants,  Marsh- 
jo  tuns  bear  sheaves  of  golden  grain  ;  iEgir  the  Sea-demon 
himself  stretches  his  back  for  a  sleek  highway  to  you,  and  on 
Firehorses  and  Windhorses  ye  career.  Ye  are  most  strong. 
Thor  red-bearded,  with  his  blue  sun- eyes,  with  his  cheery 
heart  and  strong  thunder-hammer,  he  and  you  have  prevailed. 
Ye  are  most  strong,  ye  Sons  of  the  icy  North,  of  the  far  East, 
— far  marching  from  your  rugged  Eastern  "Wildernesses, 
hitherward  from  the  grey  Dawn  of  Time  !  Ye  are  Sons  of 
the  Jotun-laxid  ;  the  land  of  Difficulties  Conquered.  Difficult  ? 
You  must  try  this  thing.  Once  try  it  with  the  understanding 
that  it  will  and  shall  have  to  be  done.  Try  it  as  ye  try  the 
paltrier  thing,  making  of  money !  I  will  bet  on  you  once 
more,  against  all  Jotuns,  Tailor-gods,  Double-barrelled  Law- 
wards,  and  Denizens  of  Chaos  whatsoever  ! 


CHAPTEE  V. 

PERMANENCE. 

Standing  on  the  threshold,  nay  as  yet  outside  the  threshold, 
of  a  '  Chivalry  of  Labour,'  and  an  immeasurable  Future  which 
it  is  to  fill  with  fruitfulness  and  verdant  shade  ;  where  so  much 
has  not  yet  come  even  to  the  rudimental  state,  and  all  speech 
of  positive  enactments  were  hazardous  in  those  who  know 
this  business  only  by  the  eye, — let  us  here  hint  at  simply  one 
widest  universal  principle,  as  the  basis  from  which  all  organi- 
sation hitherto  has  grown  up  among  men,  and  all  henceforth 


PERMANENCE. 


2C>7 


will  have  to  grow  :  The  principle  of  Permanent  Contract  in- 
stead of  Temporary. 

Permanent  not  Temporary  : — you  do  not  hire  the  mere  red« 
coated  fighter  by  the  day,  but  by  the  score  of  years  !  Per- 
manence, persistence  is  the  first  condition  of  all  fruitfulness 
in  the  ways  of  men.  The  '  tendency  to  persevere/  to  persist 
in  spite  of  hindrances,  discouragements  and  '  impossibilities  : ' 
it  is  this  that  in  all  things  distinguishes  the  strong  soul  from 
the  weak  ;  the  civilised  burgher  from  the  nomadic  savage, — 
the  Species  Man  from  the  Genus  Ape  !  The  Nomad  has  his 
very  house  set  on  wheels  ;  the  Nomad,  and  in  a  still  higher 
degree  the  Ape,  are  all  for  '  liberty  ; '  the  privilege  to  flit  con- 
tinually is  indispensable  for  them.  Alas,  in  how  many  ways, 
does  our  humour,  in  this  swift-rolling  self-abrading  Time, 
shew  itself  nomadic,  apelike  ;  mournful  enough  to  him  that 
looks  on  it  with  eyes  !  This  humour  will  have  to  abate  ;  it  is 
the  first  element  of  all  fertility  in  human  things,  that  such 
'  liberty '  of  apes  and  nomads  do  by  freewill  or  constraint 
abridge  itself,  give  place  to  a  better.  The  civilised  man  lives 
not  in  wheeled  houses.  He  builds  stone  castles,  plants  lands, 
makes  lifelong  marriage-contracts  ; — has  long-dated  hundred- 
fold possessions,  not  to  be  valued  in  the  money-market  ;  has 
pedigrees,  libraries,  law-codes  ;  has  memories  and  hopes,  even 
for  this  Earth,  that  reach  over  thousands  of  years.  Life-long 
marriage-contracts :  how  much  preferable  wrere  year-long  or 
month-long — to  the  nomad  or  ape  ! 

Month -long  contracts  please  me  little,  in  any  province 
where  there  can  by  possibility  be  found  virtue  enough  for 
more.  Month-long  contracts  do  not  answer  well  even  with 
your  house-servants  ;  the  liberty  on  both  sides  to  change 
every  month  is  growing  very  apelike,  nomadic  ; — and  I  hear 
philosophers  predict  that  it  will  alter,  or  that  strange  results 
will  follow  :  that  wise  men,  pestered  with  nomads,  with  unat- 
tached ever-shifting  spies  and  enemies  rather  than  friends  and 
•servants,  will  gradually,  weighing  substance  against  semblance, 
with  indignation,  dismiss  such,  down  almost  to  the  very  shoe- 
black, and  say,  "  Begone  ;  I  will  serve  myself  rather,  and  have 


268 


HOROSCOPE, 


peace  !  *  Gurtli  was  hired  for  life  to  Cedric,  and  Cedric  to 
Gurth.  0  Anti-Slavery  Convention,  loud-soun ding  long-eared 
Exeter-Hall — But  in  thee  too  is  a  kind  of  instinct  towards 
justice,  and  I  will  complain  of  nothing.  Only,  black  Quashee 
over  the  seas  being  once  sufficiently  attended  to,  wilt  thou  not 
perhaps  open  thy  dull  sodden  eyes  to  the  '  sixty-thousand 
£  valets  in  London  itself  who  are  yearly  dismissed  to  the 
6  streets,  to  be  what  they  can,  when  the  season  ends  ; ' — or  to 
the  hungerstricken,  pallid,  yellow-coloured  'Free  Labourers' 
in  Lancashire,  Yorkshire,  Buckinghamshire,  and  all  other 
shires  !  These  Yellow-coloured,  for  the  present,  absorb  all 
my  sympathies  :  if  I  had  a  Twenty  Millions,  with  Model-Farms 
and  Niger  Expeditions,  it  is  to  these  that  I  would  give  it ! 
Quashee  has  already  victuals,  clothing  ;  Quashee  is  not  dying 
of  such  despair  as  the  yellow-coloured  pale  man's.  Quashee, 
it  must  be  owned,  is  hitherto  a  kind  of  blockhead.  The  Haiti 
Duke  of  Marmalade,  educated  now  for  almost  half  a  century, 
seems  to  have  next  to  no  sense  in  him.  Why,  in  one  of  those 
Lancashire  "Weavers,  dying  of  hunger,  there  is  more  thought 
and  heart,  a  greater  arithmetical  amount  of  misery  and  des- 
peration, than  in  whole  gangs  of  Quashees.  It  must  be  owned, 
thy  eyes  are  of  the  sodden  sort  ;  and  with  thy  emancipations, 
and  thy  twenty-mi] lionings  and  long-eared  clamourings,  thou, 
like  Bobespierre  and  his  pasteboard  Etre  Supreme,  threatenest 
to  become  a  bore  to  us  :  A vec  ton  Etre  Supreme  tu  commences 
m'embtter  ! — 

In  a  Printed  Sheet  of  the  assiduous,  much-abused,  and 
truly  useful  Mr.  Chadwick's,  containing  queries  and  respon- 
ses from  far  and  near,  as  to  this  great  question,  £  What  is  the 
effect  of  Education  on  wwkingmen,  in  respect  of  their  value 
as  mere  workers  ? '  the  present  Editor,  reading  with  satisfac- 
tion a  decisive  unanimous  verdict  as  to  Education,  reads  with 
inexpressible  interest  this  special  remark,  put  in  by  way  of 
marginal  incidental  note,  from  a  practical  manufacturing 
Quaker,  whom,  as  he  is  anonymous,  we  will  call  Friend  Pru- 
dence. Prudence  keeps  a  thousand  workmen  ;  has  striven  in 
all  ways  to  attach  them  to  him  ;  has  provided  conversational 
soirees  ;  play-grounds,  bands  of  music  for  the  young  ones; 


TERM  A  NKNGE, 


260 


went  even  c  the  length  of  buying  them  a  drum  : '  all  which 
has  turned  out  to  be  an  excellent  investment.  For  a  certain 
person,  marked  here  by  a  black  stroke,  whom  we  shall  name 
Blank,  living  over  the  wTay, — he  also  keeps  somewhere  about 
a  thousand  men  ;  but  has  done  none  of  these  things  for  them, 
nor  any  other  thing,  except  due  payment  of  the  wages  by 
supply-and-demancl.  Blank's  workers  are  perpetually  getting 
into  mutiny,  into  broils  and  coils  :  every  six  months,  we  sup- 
pose, Blank  has  a  strike  ;  every  one  month,  every  day  and 
every  hour,  they  are  fretting  and  obstructing  the  short-sight- 
ed Blank  ;  pilfering  from  him,  wasting  and  idling  for  him, 
omitting  and  committing  for  him.  "I  would  not,"  says 
Friend  Prudence,  "  exchange  my  workers  for  his  with  sewn 
thousand  pounds  to  boot"* 

Bight,  O  honourable  Prudence  ;  thou  art  wholly  in  the 
right  :  Seven  thousand  pounds  even  as  a  matter  of  profit  for 
this  world,  nay  for  the  mere  cash- market  of  this  world  !  And 
as  a  matter  of  profit  not  for  this  world  only,  but  for  the  other 
world  and  all  worlds,  it  outweighs  the  Bank  of  England  ! — 
Can  the  sagacious  reader  descry  here,  as  it  were  the  outmost 
inconsiderable  rockledge  of  a  universal  rock-foundation,  deep 
once  more  as  the  Centre  of  *  the  World,  emerging  so,  in  the 
experience  of  this  good  Quaker,  through  the  Stygian  mud- 
vortexes  and  general  Mother  of  Dead  Dogs,  whereon,  for  the 
present,  all  swags  and  insecurely  hovers,  as  if  ready  to  be 
swallowed  ? 

Some  Permanence  of  Contract  is  already  almost  possible  ; 
the  principle  of  Permanence,  year  by  year,  better  seen  into 
imd  elaborated,  may  enlarge  itself,  expand  gradually  on  every 
side  into  a  system.  This  once  secured,  the  basis  of  all  good 
results  were  laid.  Once  permanent,  you  do  not  quarrel  with 
the  first  difficulty  on  your  path,  and  quit  it  in  weak  disgust  ; 
you  reflect  that  it  cannot  be  quitted,  that  it  must  be  con- 
quered, a  wise  arrangement  fallen  on  with  regard  to  it.  Ye 
foolish  Wedded  Two,  who  have  quarrelled,  between  whom 
the  Evil  Spirit  has  stirred  up  transient  strife  and  bitterness 
*  Report  on  the  Training  of  Pauper  Children  (1841),  p.  t8. 


270 


HOROSCOPE. 


so  that  i  incompatibility  '  seems  almost  nigh,  ye  are  neverthe-* 
less  the  Two  who,"  by  long  habit,  were  it  by  nothing  more,  do 
best  of  all  others  suit  each  other  :  it  is  expedient  for  your 
own  two  foolish  selves,  to  say  nothing  of  the  infants,  pedi- 
grees and  public  in  general,  that  ye  agree  again ;  that  ye  put 
away  the  Evil  Spirit,  and  wisely  on  both  hands  struggle  for 
the  guidance  of  a  Good  Spirit ! 

The  very  horse  that  is  permanent,  how  much  kindlier  do 
his  rider  and  he  work,  than  the  temporary  one,  hired  on  any 
hack  principle  yet  known !  I  am  for  permanence  in  all 
things,  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  and  to  the  latest  pos- 
sible. Blessed  is  he  that  continueth  where  he  is.  Here  let 
us  rest,  and  lay  out  seedfields ;  here  let  us  learn  to  dwell. 
Here,  even  here,  the  orchards  that  we  plant  will  yield  us 
fruit ;  the  acorns  will  be  wood  and  pleasant  umbrage,  if  we 
wait.  How  much  grows  everywhere,  if  we  do  but  wait ! 
Through  the  swamps  we  will  shape  causeways,  force  purify- 
ing drains  ;  we  will  learn  to  thread  the  rocky  inaccessibili- 
ties ;  and  beaten  tracks,  worn  smooth  by  mere  travelling  of 
human  feet,  will  form  themselves.  Not  a  difficulty  but  can 
transfigure  itself  into  a  triumph  ;  not  even  a  deformity  but, 
if  our  own  soul  have  imprinted  worth  on  it,  will  grow  dear  to 
us.  The  sunny  plains  and  deep  indigo  transparent  skies  of 
Italy  are  all  indifferent  to  the  great  sick  heart  of  a  Sir  Walter 
Scott :  on  the  back  of  the  Apennines,  in  wild  spring  weather, 
the  sight  of  bleak  Scotch  firs,  and  snow-spotted  heath  and 
desolation,  brings  tears  into  his  eyes.* 

O  unwise  mortals  that  forever  change  and  shift,  and  say, 
Yonder,  not  Here  !  Wealth  richer  than  both  the  Indies  lies 
everywhere  for  man,  if  he  will  endure.  Not  his  oaks  only 
and  his  fruit-trees,  his  very  heart  roots  itself  wherever  he  will 
abide  ; — roots  itself,  draws  nourishment  from  the  deep  foun- 
tains of  Universal  Being  ! — Vagrant  Sam-Slicks,  wh#  rove 
over  the  Earth  doing  '  strokes  of  trade/  what  wealth  have 
they  ?  Horseloads,  shiploads  of  white  or  yellow  metal :  in  very 
sooth,  what  are  these  ?  Slick  rests  nowhere,  he  is  homeless. 
He  can  build  stone  or  marble  houses ;  but  to  continue  in 
*  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott 


PERMANENCE. 


271 


them  is  denied  him.  The  wealth  of  a  man  is  the  number  of 
things  which  he  loves  and  blesses,  which  he  is  loved  and 
blessed  by  !  The  herdsman  in  his  poor  clay  shealing,  where 
his  very  cow  and  dog  are  friends  to  him,  and  not  a  cataract 
but  carries  memories  for  him,  and  not  a  mountain-top  but 
nods  old  recognition  :  his  life,  all  encircled  as  in  blessed 
mother's-arms,  is  it  poorer  than  Slick's  with  the  ass-loads 
of  yellow  metal  on  his  back  ?  Unhappy  Slick !  Alas,  there 
has  so  much  grown  nomadic,  apelike,  with  us  :  so  much  will 
have,  with  whatever  pain,  repugnance  and  'impossibility,'  to 
alter  itself,  to  fix  itself  again, — in  some  wise  way,  in  any  not 
delirious  way  ! 

A  question  arises  here  :  Whether,  in  some  ulterior,  perhaps 
some  not  far-distant  stage  of  this  'Chivalry  of  Labour/  your 
Master- Worker  may  not  find  it  possible,  and  needful,  to  grant 
his  Workers  permanent  interest  in  his  enterprise  and  theirs  ? 
So  that  it  become,  in  practical  result,  what  in  essential  fact 
and  justice  it  ever  is,  a  joint  enterprise  ;  all  men,  from  the 
Chief  Master  down  to  the  lowest  Overseer  and  Operative, 
economically  as  well  as  loyally  concerned  for  it  ? — Which 
question  I  do  not  answer.  The  answer,  near  or  else  far,  is 
perhaps,  Yes ; — and  yet  one  knows  the  difficulties.  Despot- 
ism is  essential  in  most  enterprises ;  I  am  told,  they  do  not 
tolerate  '  freedom  of  debate '  on  board  a  Seventy-four  !  Re- 
publican senate  and  plebiscita  would  not  answer  well  in  Cot- 
ton-Mills. And  yet  observe  there  too :  Freedom,  not  nomad's 
or  ape's  Freedom,  but  man's  Freedom  ;  this  is  indispensable. 
We  must  have  it,  and  will  have  it !  To  reconcile  Despotism 
with  Freedom  : — well,  is  that  such  a  mystery  ?  Do  you  not 
already  know  the  way  ?  It  is  to  make  your  Despotism  just 
Rigorous  as  Destiny  ;  but  just  too,  as  Destiny  and  its  Laws. 
The  Laws  of  God  :  all  men  obey  these,  and  have  no  'Free- 
dom' at  all  but  in  obeying  them.  The  way  is  already  known, 
part  of  the  way  ; — and  courage  and  some  qualities  are  needed 
for  walking  on  it ! 


272 


HOROSCOPE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  LANDED. 

A  man  with  fifty,  with  five  hundred,  with  a  thousand  pounds 
a  day,  given  him  freely,  without  condition  at  all, — on  condi- 
tion, as  it  now  runs,  that  he  will  sit  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  do  no  mischief,  pass  no  Corn-Laws  or  the  like,— 
he  too,  you  would  say,  is  or  might  be  a  rather  strong  Worker ! 
He  is  a  Worker  with  such  tools  as  no  man  in  this  world  ever 
before  had.  But  in  practice,  very  astonishing,  very  ominous 
to  look  at,  he  proves  not  a  strong  Worker ; — you  are  too 
happy  if  he  will  prove  but  a  No-worker,  do  nothing,  and  not 
be  a  Wrong- worker. 

You  ask  him,  at  the  year's  end  :  "  Where  is  your  three- 
hundred  thousand  pound ;  what  have  you  realised  to  us  with 
that?"  He  answers,  in  indignant  surprise:  "  Done  with  it? 
Who  are  you  that  ask  ?  I  have  eaten  it ;  I  and  my  flunkeys, 
and  parasites,  and  slaves  two-footed  and  four-footed,  in  an 
ornamental  manner  ;  and  I  am  here  alive  by  it  ;  /  am  realised 
by  it  to  you  !  " — It  is,  as  we  have  often  said,  such  an  answer 
as  was  never  before  given  under  this  Sun.  An  answer  that 
fills  me>  with  boding  apprehension,  with  foreshadows  of  de- 
spair. O  stolid  Use-and-wont  of  an  atheistic  Half-century,  O 
Ignavia,  Tailor-godhood,  soul-killing  Cant,  to  what  passes 
art  thou  bringing  us  ! — Out  of  the  loud-piping  whirlwind, 
audibly  to  him  that  has  ears,  the  Highest  God  is  again  an- 
nouncing in  these  days:  " Idleness  shall  not  be."  God  has 
said  it,  man  cannot  gainsay. 

Ah,  how  happy  were  it,  if  he  this  Aristocrat  Worker  would, 
in  like  manner,  see  his  work  and  do  it !  It  is  frightful  seek- 
ing another  to  do  it  for  him.  Guillotines,  Meudon  Tanneries, 
and  half-a-million  men  shot  dead,  have  already  been  expended 
in  that  business ;  and  it  is  yet  far  from  done.  This  man  too 
is  something  ;  nay  he  is  a  great  thing.  Look  on  him  there  : 
a  man  of  manful  aspect ;  something  of  the  '  cheerfulness  of 
pride '  still  lingering  in  him.    A  free  air  of  graceful  stoicism, 


THE  LANDED. 


273 


of  easy  silent  dignity  sits  well  on  him  ;  in  his  heart,  could  we 
reach  it,  lie  elements  of  generosity,  self-sacrificing  justice,  true 
human  valour.  Why  should  he,  with  such  appliances,  stand 
an  incumbrance  in  the  Present ;  perish  disastrously  out  of 
the  Future !  From  no  section  of  the  Future  would  we  lose 
tbese  noble  courtesies,  impalpable  yet  all- controlling ;  these 
dignified  reticences,  these  kingly  simplicities  ; — lose  aught 
of  what  the  fruitful  Past  still  gives  us  token  of,  memento  of, 
in  this  man.  Can  we  not  save  him  : — can  he  not  help  us  to 
save  him  !  A  brave  man  he  too  ;  had  not  undivine  Ignavia, 
Hearsay,  Speech  without  meaning, — had  not  Cant,  thousand- 
fold Cant  within  him  and  around  him,  enveloping  him  like 
choke-damp,  like  thick  Egyptian  darkness,  thrown  his  soul 
into  asphyxia,  as  it  were  extinguished  his  soul ;  so  that  he 
sees  not,  hears  not,  and  Moses  and  all  the  Prophets  address 
him  in  vain. 

Will  he  awaken,  be  alive  again,  and  have  a  soul ;  or  is  this 
death-fit  very  death  ?  It  is  a  question  of  questions,  for  him- 
self and  for  us  all  !  Alas,  is  there  no  noble  work  for  this  man 
too?  Has  he  not  thick-headed  ignorant  boors  ;  lazy,  enslaved 
farmers;  weedy  lands  ?  Lands!  Has  he  not  weary  heavy- 
laden  ploughers  of  land  ;  immortal  souls  of  men,  ploughing, 
ditching,  day-drudging  ;  bare  of  back,  empty  of  stomach, 
nigh  desperate  of  heart  ;  and  none  peaceably  to  help  them 
but  he,  under  Heaven  ?  Does  he  find,  with  his  three  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  no  noble  thing  trodden  down  in  the  thor- 
oughfares which  it  were  godlike  to  help  up?  Can  he  do 
nothing  for  his  Burns  but  make  a  Gauger  of  him  ;  lionise  him, 
bedinner  him,  for  a  foolish  while  ;  then  whistle  him  down  the 
wind,  to  desperation  and  bitter  death  ? — His  work  too  is  dif- 
ficult, in  these  modern,  far-dislocated  ages.  But  it  may  be 
done  ;  it  may  be  tried  ; — it  must  be  done. 

A  modern  Duke  of  Weimar,  not  a  god  he  either,  but  a 
human  duke,  levied,  as  I  reckon,  in  rents  and  taxes  and  all 
incomings  whatsoever,  less  than  several  of  our  English  Dukes 
do  in  rent  alone.  The  Duke  of  Weimar,  with  these  incom- 
ings, had  to  govern,  judge,  defend,  every  way  administer  his 
Dukedom.  He  does  all  this  as  few  others  did  :  and  he  im- 
18 


274 


HOROSCOPE. 


proves  lands  besides  all  this,  makes  river-embankments,  main* 
tains  not  soldiers  only,  but  Universities  and  Institutions  : — and 
in  bis  Court  were  these  four  men  :  Wieland,  Herder,  Schiller, 
Goethe.  Not  as  parasites,  which  was  impossible  ;  not  as 
table- wits  and  poetic  Katerfeltoes  ;  but  as  noble  Spiritual  Men 
working  under  a  noble  Practical  Man.  Shielded  by  him  from 
many  miseries  ;  perhaps  from  many  shortcomings,  destructive 
aberrations.  "Heaven  had  sent,  once  more,  heavenly  Light 
into  the  world  ;  and  this  man's  honour  was  that  he  gave  it 
welcome.  A  new  noble  kind  of  Clergy,  under  an  old  but  still 
noble  kind  of  King  !  I  reckon  that  this  one  Duke  of  Weimar 
did  more  for  the  Culture  of  his  Nation  than  all  the  English 
Dukes  and  Duces  now  extant,  or  that  were  extant  since  Henry 
the  Eighth  gave  them  the  Church  Lands  to  eat,  have  done  for 
theirs  ! — I  am  ashamed,  I  am  alarmed  for  my  English  Dukes  : 
what  word  have  I  to  say  ? 

If  our  Actual  Aristocracy,  appointed  c  Best-and  Bravest,' 
will  be  wise,  how  inexpressibly  happy  for  us  !  If  not, — the 
voice  of  God  from  the  whirlwind  is  very  audible  to  me.  Nay, 
I  will  thank  the  Great  God,  that  He  has  said,  in  whatever 
fearful  ways,  and  just  wrath  against  us,  "  Idleness  shall  be  no 
more!"  Idleness?  The  awakened  soul  of  man,  all  but  the 
asphyxied  soul  of  man,  turns  from  it  as  from  worse  than 
death.  It  is  the  life-in -death  of  Poet  Coleridge.  That  fable 
of  the  Dead-Sea  Apes  ceases  to  be  a  fable.  The  poor  Worker 
starved  to  death  is  not  the  saddest  of  sights.  He  lies  there, 
dead  on  his  shield  ;  fallen  down  into  the  bosom  of  his  old 
Mother ;  with  haggard  pale  face,  sorrow-worn,  but  stilled  now 
into  divine  peace,  silently  appeals  to  the  Eternal  God  and 
all  the  Universe — the  most  silent,  the  most  eloquent  of  men. 

Exceptions, — ah  yes,  thank  Heaven,  we  know  there  are  ex- 
ceptions. Our  case  were  too  hard,  were  there  not  exceptions, 
and  partial  exceptions  not  a  few,  whom  we  know,  and  whom 
we  do  not  know.  Honour  to  the  name  of  Ashley, — honour 
to  this  and  the  other  valiant  Abcliel,  found  faithf  ul  still ;  who 
would  fain  by  work  and  by  word,  admonish  their  Order  not 
to  rush  upon  destruction  !  These  are  they  who  will,  if  not 
save  their  Order,  postpone  the  wreck  of  it ; — by  whom,  under 


THE  LANDED. 


275 


blessing  of  the  Upper  Powers,  'a  quiet  euthanasia  spread 
4  over  generations,  instead  of  a  swift  torture-death  concen- 
'  tred  into  years,'  may  be  brought  about  for  many  things.  All 
honour  and  success  to  these.  The  noble  man  can  still  strive 
nobly  to  save  and  serve  his  Order  ; — at  lowest,  he  can  remem- 
ber the  precept  of  the  Prophet:  "Come  out  of  her,  my 
people  ;  come  out  of  her  ! " 

To  sit  idle  aloft,  like  living  statues,  like  absurd  Epicurus'- 
gods,  in  pampered  isolation,  in  exclusion  from  the  glorious 
fateful  battlefield  of  this  God's-World  :  it  is  a  poor  life  for  a 
man,  when  all  Upholsterers  and  French-Cooks  have  done  their 
utmost  for  it ! — Nay,  what  a  shallow  delusion  is  this  we  have 
all  got  into,  That  any  man  should  or  can  keep  himself  apart 
from  men,  have  '  no  business '  with  them,  except  a  cash- 
account  1  business  ! '  It  is  the  silliest  tale  a  distressed  gene- 
ration of  men  ever  took  to  telling  one  another.  Men  cannot 
live  isolated  :  we  are  all  bound  together,  for  mutual  good  or 
else  for  mutual  misery,  as  living  nerves  in  the  same  body. 
No  highest  man  can  disunite  himself  from  any  lowest.  Con- 
sider it.  Your  poor  '  Werter  blowing  out  his  distracted  ex- 
istence because  Charlotte  will  not  have  the  keeping  thereof 
this  is  no  peculiar  phasis  ;  it  is  simply  the  highest  expression 
of  a  phasis  traceable  wherever  one  human  creature  meets 
another !  Let  the  meanest  crookbacked  Thersites  teach  the 
supremest  Agamemnon  that  he  actually  does  not  reverence 
him,  the  supremest  Agamemnon's  eyes  flash  fire  responsive  ;  a 
real  pain,  and  partial  insanity  has  seized  Agamemnon. 
Strange  enough  :  a  many-counselled  Ulysses  is  set  in  motion 
by  a  scoundrel-blockhead  ;  plays  tunes,  like  a  barrel-organ, 
at  the  scoundrel  blockhead's  touch, — has  to  snatch,  namely, 
his  sceptre  cudgel,  and  weal  the  crooked  back  with  bumps 
and  thumps  !  Let  a  chief  of  men,  reflect  well  on  it.  Not  in 
having  '  no  business '  with  men,  but  in  having  no  anjust  busi- 
ness  with  them,  and  in  having  all  manner  of  true  and  just 
business,  can  either  his  or  their  blessedness  be  found  possi- 
ble, and  this  waste  world  become,  for  both  parties,  a  horn© 
and  peopled  garden. 


276 


HOROSCOPE. 


Men  do  reverence  men.  Men  do  worship  in  that  'one, 
temple  of  the  world,'  as  Novalis  calls  it,  the  Presence  of 
a  Man  !  Hero-worship,  true  and  blessed,  or  else  mistaken, 
false  and  accursed,  goes  on  everywhere  and  everywhen.  In 
this  world  there  is  one  godlike  thing,  the  essence  of  all  that 
was  or  ever  will  be  of  godlike  in  this  world :  the  veneration 
done  to  Human  Worth  by  the  hearts  of  men.  Hero-worship, 
in  the  souls  of  the  heroic,  of  the  clear  and  wise, — it  is  the 
perpetual  presence  of  Heaven  in  our  poor  Earth  :  when  it  is 
not  there,  Heaven  is  veiled  from  us  ;  and  all  is  under  Hea- 
ven's ban  and  interdict,  and  there  is  no  worship,  or  worth- 
ship,  or  worth  or  blessedness  in  the  Earth  any  more ! — 

Independence,  '  lord  of  the  lion-heart  and  eagle-eye,' — alas, 
yes,  he  is  one  we  have  got  acquainted  with  in  these  late  times  : 
a  very  indispensable  one,  for  spurning  off  with  due  energy  in- 
numerable sham-superiors,  Tailor-made  :  honour  to  him,  en- 
tire success  to  him  !  Entire  success  is  sure  to  him.  But  he 
must  not  stop  there,  at  that  small  success,  with  his  eagle-eye. 
He  has  now  a  second  far  greater  success  to  gain  :  to  seek  out 
his  real  superiors,  whom  not  the  Tailor  but  the  Almighty  God 
has  made  superior  to  him,  and  see  a  little  what  he  will  do  with 
these  !  Rebel  against  these  also  ?  Pass  by  with  minatory  eagle- 
glance,  with  calm-sniffing  mockery,  or  even  without  any  mock- 
ery  or  sniff,  when  these  present  themselves  ?  The  lion-hearted 
will  never  dream  of  such  a  thing.  Forever  far  be  it  from  him  I 
His  minatory  eagle-glance  will  veil  itself  in  softness  of  the 
dove  :  his  lion-heart  will  become  a  lamb's ;  all  its  just  indig- 
nation changed  into  just  reverence,  dissolved  in  blessed  floods 
of  noble  humble  love,  how  much  heavenlier  than  any  pride, 
nay,  if  you  will,  how  much  prouder !  I  know  him,  this  lion- 
hearted,  eagle-eyed  one  ;  have  met  him,  rushing  on,  cwith 
bosom  bare,'  in  a  very  distracted  dishevelled  manner,  the 
times  being  hard ; — and  can  say,  and  guarantee  on  my  life, 
That  in  him  is  no  rebellion  ;  that  in  him  is  the  reverse  of  re- 
bellion, the  needful  preparation  for  obedience.  For  if  you  do 
mean  to  obey  God-made  superiors,  your  first  step  is  to  sweep 


THE  GIFTED. 


out  the  Tailor-made  ones ;  order  them,  under  penalties,  to 
vanish,  to  make  ready  for  vanishing ! 

Nay,  what  is  best  of  all,  he  cannot  rebel,  if  he  would.  Supe- 
riors whom  God  has  made  for  us  we  cannot  order  to  withdraw  ! 
Not  in  the  least.  No  Grand-Turk  himself,  thickest-quilted 
tailor-made  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon  can  do  it :  but  an 
Arab  Man,  in  cloak  of  his  own  clouting  ;  with  black  beaming 
eyes,  with  flaming  sovereign-heart  direct  from  the  centre  of 
the  Universe ;  and  also,  I  am  told,  with  terrible  £  horse-shoe 
vein '  of  swelling  wrath  in  his  brow,  and  lightning  (if  you  will 
not  have  it  as  light)  tingling  through  every  vein  of  him,-- -he 
rises  ;  says  authoritatively :  "  Thickest-quilted  Grand-Turk, 
tailor-made  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon,  No  : — /  withdraw 
not ;  thou  shalt  obey  me  or  withdraw  !  "  And  so  accordingly 
it  is :  thickest-quilted  Grand-Turks  and  all  their  progeny,  to 
this  hour,  obey  that  man  in  the  remarkablest  manner ;  pre- 
ferring not  to  withdraw. 

O  brother,  it  is  an  endless  consolation  to  me,  in  this  disor- 
ganic,  as  yet  so  quack-ridden,  what  you  may  well  call  hag- 
ridden and  hell-ridden  world,  to  find  that  disobedience  to  the 
Heavens,  when  they  send  any  messenger  whatever,  is  and  re- 
mains impossible.  It  cannot  be  done  ;  no  Turk  grand  or  small 
can  do  it.  'Shew  the  dullest  clod-pole,' says  my  invaluable 
German  friend,  '  shew  the  haughtiest  f eatherhead,  that  a  soul 
'  higher  than  himself  is  here  ;  were  his  knees  stiffened  into 
'  brass,  he  must  down  and  worship.' 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  GIFTED. 

Yes,  in  what  tumultuous  huge  anarchy  soever  a  Noble 
human  Principle  may  dwell  and  strive,  such  tumult  is  in  the 
way  of  being  calmed  into  a  fruitful  sovereignty.  It  is  inevi- 
table. No  Chaos  can  continue  chaotic  with  a  soul  in  it.  Be- 
souled  with  earnest  human  Nobleness,  did  not  slaughter,  vio- 
lence and  fire-eyed  fury,  grow  into  a  Chivalry  ;  into  a  blessed 
Loyalty  of  Governor  and  Governed  ?    And  in  Work,  which  is 


278 


HOROSCOPE. 


of  itself  noble,  and  the  only  true  fighting,  there  shall  be  no 
such  possibility  ?  Believe  it  not ;  it  is  incredible  ;  the  whole 
Universe  contradicts  it.  Here  too  the  Chactaw  Principle  will 
be  subordinated  ;  the  Man  Principle  will,  by  degrees,  become 
superior,  become  supreme. 

I  know  Mammon,  too  ;  Banks-of-En gland,  Credit-Systems, 
world-wide  possibilities  of  work  and  traffic  ;  and  applaud  and 
admire  them.  Mammon  is  like  Fire  ;  the  usefulest  of  all  ser- 
vants, if  the  frightfulest  of  all  masters  !  The  Cliffords,  Fitz- 
adelms  and  Chivalry  Fighters  '  wished  to  gain  victory,'  never 
doubt  it  :  but  victory,  unless  gained  in  a  certain  spirit,  was 
no  victory  ;  defeat,  sustained  in  a  certain  spirit,  was  itself 
victory.  I  say  again  and  again,  had  they  counted  the  scalps 
alone,  they  had  continued  Chactaws,  and  no  Chivalry  or  last- 
ing victory  had  been.  And  in  Industrial  Fighters  and  Cap- 
tains is  there  no  nobleness  discoverable  ?  To  them,  alone  of 
men,  there  shall  forever  be  no  blessedness  but  in  swollen  cof- 
fers? To  see  beauty,  order,  gratitude,  loyal  human  hearts 
around  them,  shall  be  of  no  moment ;  to  see  fuliginous  deform- 
ity, mutiny,  hatred  and  despair,  with  the  addition  of  half  a 
million  guineas,  shall  be  better  ?  Heaven's  blessedness  not 
there  ;  Hell's  cursedness,  and  your  half  million  bits  of  metal, 
a  substitute  for  that !  Is  there  no  profit  in  diffusing  Heaven's 
blessedness,  but  only  in  gaining  gold  ? — If  so,  I  apprise  the 
Mill-owner  and  Millionaire,  that  he  too  must  prepare  for  van- 
ishing ;  that  neither  is  he  born  to  be  of  the  sovereigns  of  this 
world  ;  that  he  will  have  to  be  trampled  and  chained  clown 
in  whatever  terrible  ways,  and  brass-collared  safe,  among  the 
born  thralls  of  this  world  !  We  cannot  have  Canailles  and 
Doggeries  that  will  not  make  some  Chivalry  of  themselves  : 
our  noble  Planet  is  impatient  of  such ;  in  the  end  totally  in- 
tolerant of  such  ! 

For  the  Heavens,  unwearying  in  their  bounty,  do  send  other 
souls  into  this  world,  to  whom  yet,  as  to  their  forerunners,  in 
Old  Roman,  in  Old  Hebrew  and  all  noble  times,  the  omnipo- 
tent guinea  is,  on  the  whole,  an  impotent  guinea.  Has  your 
half-dead  avaricious  Corn-Law  Lord,  your  half -alive  avaricious 
Cotton-Law  Lord,  never  seen  one  such  ?    Such  are,  not  one, 


THE  GIFTED. 


but  several ;  are,  and  will  be,  unless  the  gods  have  doomed 
this  world  to  swift  dire  ruin.  These  are  they,  the  elect  of  the 
world  ;  the  born  champions,  strong  men,  and  liberatory  Sam- 
sons of  this  poor  world  :  whom  the  poor  Delilah-world  will  not 
always  shear  of  their  strength  and  eyesight,  and  set  to  grind 
in  darkness  at  its  poor  gin-wheel !  Such  souls  are,  in  these 
days,  getting  somewhat  out  of  humour  with  the  world.  Your 
very  Byron,  in  these  days,  is  at  least  driven  mad ;  flatly  re- 
fuses fealty  to  the  world.  The  world  with  its  injustices,  its 
golden  brutalities,  and  dull  yellow  guineas,  is  a  disgust  to 
such  souls :  the  ray  of  Heaven  that  is  in  them  does  at  least 
predoom  them  to  be  very  miserable  here.  Yes  : — and  yet  all 
misery  is  faculty  misdirected,  strength  that  has  not  yet  found 
its  way.  The  black  whirlwind  is  mother  of  the  lightning. 
No  smoke,  in  any  sense,  but  can  become  flame  and  radiance  ! 
Such  soul,  once  graduated  in  Heaven's  stern  University,  steps 
out  superior  to  your  guinea. 

Dost  thou  know,  O  sumptuous  Corn-Lord,  Cotton-Lord,  O 
mutinous  Trades- Unionist,  gin- vanquished,  undeliverable  ;  O 
much  enslaved  "World, — this  man  is  not  a  slave  with  thee  ! 
None  of  thy  promotions  is  necessary  for  him.  His  place  is 
with  the  stars  of  Heaven :  to  thee  it  may  be  momentous,  to 
thee  it  may  be  life  or  death,  to  him  it  is  indifferent,  whether 
thou  place  him  in  the  lowest  hut,  or  forty  feet  higher  at  the 
top  of  thy  stupendous  high  tower,  while  here  on  Earth.  The 
joys  of  Earth  that  are  precious,  they  depend  not  on  thee  and 
thy  promotions.  Food  and  raiment  and,  round  a  social 
hearth,  souls  who  love  him,  whom  he  loves  :  these  are  already 
his.  He.  wants  none  of  thy  rewards  5  behold  also,  he  fears 
none  of  thy  penalties.  Thou  canst  not  answer  even  by  killing 
him :  the  case  of  Anaxarchus  thou  canst  kill ;  but  the  self  of 
Anaxarchus,  the  word  or  act  of  Anaxarchus,.  in  no  wise  what- 
ever. To  this  man  death  is  not  a  bugbear ;  to  this  man  life 
is  already  as  earnest  and  awful,  and  beautiful  and  terrible  as 
death. 

Not  a  May-game  is  this  man's  life  ;  but  a  battle  and  a 
march,  a  warfare  with  principalities  and  powers.  No  idle 
promenade  through  fragrant-orange -groves  and  green  flowery 


2S0 


HOROSCOPE. 


spaces,  waited  on  by  the  choral  Muses  and  the  rosy  Hours  ;  it 
is  a  stern  pilgrimage  through  burning  sandy  solitudes,  through 
regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice.  He  walks  among  men  ;  loves 
men,  with  inexpressible  soft  pity, — as  they  cannot  love  him  : 
but  his  soul  dwells  in  solitude,  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  Crea- 
tion. In  green  oases  by  the  palm-tree  wells,  he  rests  a  space  ; 
but  anon  he  has  to  journey  forward,  escorted  by  the  Terrors 
and  the  Splendours,  the  Archdemons  and  Archangels.  All 
Heaven,  all  Pandemonium  are  his  escort.  The  stars  keen- 
glancing,  from  the  Immensities,  send  tidings  to  him  ;  the 
graves,  silent  with  their  dead,  from  the  Eternities.  Deep 
calls  for  him  unto  Deep. 

Thou,  O  World,  how  wilt  thou  secure  thyself  against  this 
man  ?  Thou  canst  not  hire  him  by  thy  guineas  ;  nor  by  thy 
gibbets  and  law-penalties  restrain  him.  He  eludes  thee  like 
a  Spirit.  Thou  canst  not  forward  him,  thou  canst  not  hinder 
him.  Thy  penalties,  thy  poverties,  neglects,  contumelies  :  be- 
hold, all  these  are  good  for  him.  Come  to  him  as  an  enemy  ; 
turn  from  him  as  an  unfriend  ;  only  do  not  this  one  thing, — 
infect  him  not  with  thy  own  delusion  :  the  benign  Genius, 
were  it  by  very  death,  shall  guard  him  against  this ! — What 
wilt  thou  do  with  him  ?  He  is  above  thee,  like  a  god.  Thou, 
in  thy  stupendous  three-inch  pattens,  art  under  him.  He  is 
thy  born  king,  thy  conqueror  and  supreme  law-giver :  not  all 
the  guineas  and  cannons,  and  leather  and  prunella,  under  the 
sky  can  save  thee  from  him.  Hardest  thickskinned  Mammon- 
world,  ruggedest  Caliban  shall  obey  him,  or  become  not  Cali- 
ban but  a  cramp.  Oh,  if  in  this  man,  whose  eyes  can  flash 
Heaven's  lightning,  and  make  all  Calibans  into  a  cramp,  there 
dwelt  not,  as  the  essence  of  his  very  being,  a  God's  Justice, 
human  Nobleness,  Veracity  and  Mercy, — I  should  tremble  for 
the  world.  But  his  strength,  let  us  rejoice  to  understand,  is 
even  this  :  The  quantity  of  Justice,  of  Valour  and  Pity  ih&k  is 
in  him.  To  hypocrites  and  tailored  quacks  in  high  places,  his 
eyes  are  lightning  ;  but  they  melt  in  dewy  pity  softer  than  a 
mother's  to  the  downpressed,  maltreated  ;  in  his  heart,  in  his 
great  thought,  is  a  sanctuary  for  all  the  wretched.  This 
world's  improvement  is  forever  sure. 


THE  GIFTED. 


281 


{Man  of  Genius?'  Thou  hast  small  notion,  meseems,  0 
Mecsenas  Twiddledee,  of  what  a  Man  of  Genius  is.  Bead  in 
thy  New  Testament  and  elsewhere, — if,  with  floods  of  mealy- 
mouthed  inanity,  with  miserable  froth-vortices  of  Cant  now 
several  centuries  old,  thy  New  Testament  is  not  all  bedimmed 
for  thee.  Canst  thou  read  in  thy  New  Testament  at  all  ?  The 
highest  Man  of  Genius,  knowest  thou  him  ;  Godlike  and  a 
God  to  this  hour  ?  His  crown  a  Crown  of  Thorns  ?  Thou 
fool,  with .  thy  empty  Godhoocls,  Apotheoses  edgegilt ;  the 
Crown  of  Thorns  made  into  a  poor  jewel-room  crown,  fit  for 
the  head  of  blockheads  ;  the  bearing  of  the  Cross  changed  to 
a  riding  in  the  Long- Acre  Gig  !  Pause  in  thy  mass-chantings, 
in  thy  litanyings,  and  Calmuck  prayings  by  machinery ;  and 
pray,  if  noisily,  at  least  in  a  more  human  manner.  How  with 
thy  rubrics  and  dalmatics,  and  clothwebs  and  cobwebs,  and 
with  thy  stupidities  and  grovelling  baseheartedness,  hast  thou 
hidden  the  Holiest  into  all  but  invisibility  ! — 

'Man  of  Genius  O  Mecsenas  Twiddledee,  hast  thou  any 
notion  what  a  Man  of  Genius  is  ?  Genius  is  '  the  inspired  gift 
of  God.'  It  is  the  clearer  presence  of  God  Most  High  in  a 
man.  Dim,  potential  in  all  men  ;  in  this  man  it  has  become 
clear,  actual.  So  says  John  Milton,  who  ought  to  be  a  judge  ; 
so  answer  him  the  Voices  of  all  Ages  and  all  Worlds.  Wouldst 
thou  commune  with  such  a  one  ?  Be  his  real  peer  then  :  does 
that  lie  in  thee  ?  Know  thyself  and  thy  real  and  thy  appa- 
rent place,  and  know  him  and  his  real  and  his  apparent  place, 
and  act  in  some  noble  conformity  with  all  that.  What !  The 
star-fire  of  the  Empyrean  shall  eclipse  itself,  and  illuminate 
magic-lanterns  to  amuse  grown  children  ?  He,  the  god- 
inspired,  is  to  twang  harps  for  thee,  and  blow  through  scran- 
nel-pipes, to  soothe  thy  sated  soul  with  visions  of  new,  still 
wider  Eldorados,  Houri  Paradises,  richer  Lands  of  Cockaigne  ? 
Brother,  this  is  not  he  ;  this  is  a  counterfeit,  this  twangling, 
jangling,  vain,  acrid,  scrannel-piping  man.  Thou  dost  well 
to  say  with  sick  Saul,  "It  is  naught,  such  harping  !  " — and  in 
sudden  rage,  to  grasp  thy  spear,  and  try  if  thou  canst  pin 
such  a  one  to*  the  wall.  King  Saul  was  mistaken  in  his  man, 
but  thou  art  right  in  thine.    It  is  the  due  of  such  a  one  :  nail 


282 


HOROSCOPE. 


him  to  the  wall,  and  leave  him  there.  So  ought  copper  shik 
lings  to  be  nailed  on  counters  ;  copper  geniuses  on  walls,  and 
left  there  for  a  sign  ! — 

I  conclude  that  the  Men  of  Letters  too  may  become  a  '  Chiv- 
alry/ an  actual  instead  of  a  virtual  Priesthood,  with  result 
immeasurable, — so  soon  as  there  is  nobleness  in  themselves 
for  that.  And,  to  a  certainty,  not  sooner  !  Of  intrinsic  Val- 
etisms  you  cannot,  with  whole  Parliaments  to  help  you,  make 
a  Heroism.  Doggeries  never  so  gold-plated,  Doggeries  never 
so  escutcheoned,  Doggeries  never  so  diplomaed,  bepuffed,  gas- 
lighted,  continue  Doggeries,  and  must  take  the  fate  of  such. 


CHAPTER  YIH. 

THE  DIDACTIC. 

Certainly  it  were  a  fond  imagination  to  expect  that  any 
preaching  of  mine  could  abate  Mam  monism  ;  that  Bobus  of 
Houndsditch  will  love  his  guineas  less,  or  his  poor  soul  more, 
for  any  preaching  of  mine  !  But  there  is  one  Preacher  who 
does  preach  with  effect,  and  gradually  persuade  all  persons  : 
his  name  is  Destiny,  is  Divine  Providence,  and  his  Sermon 
the  inflexible  Course  of  Things.  Experience  does  take  dread- 
fully high  school- wages  ;  but  he  teaches  like  no  other  ! 

I  revert  to  Friend  Prudence  the  good  Quaker's  refusal  of 
'  seven  thousand  pounds  to  boot.'  Friend  Prudence's  practi- 
cal conclusion  will,  by  degrees,  become  that  of  all  rational 
practical  men  whatsoever.  On  the  present  scheme  and  prin- 
ciple, Work  cannot  continue.  Trades'  Strikes,  Trades'  Unions, 
Chartisms  ;  mutiny,  squalor,  rage  and  desperate  revolt,  grow- 
ing ever  more  desperate,  will  go  on  their  way.  As  dark  mis- 
ery settles  down  on  us,  and  our  refuges  of  lies  fall  in  pieces 
one  after  one,  the  hearts  of  men,  now  at  last  serious,  will  turn 
to  refuges  of  truth.  The  eternal  stars  shine  out  again,  so 
soon  as  it  is  dark  enough. 

Begirt  with  desperate  Trades'  Unionism  and  Anarchic  Mu- 
tiny, many  an  Industrial  Law-ward,  by  and  by,  who  has  neg- 
lected to  make  laws  and  keep  them,  will  be  heard  saying  to 


THE  DIDACTIC. 


283 


himself  :  ££  Why  have  I  realised  five  hundred  thousand  pounds  ? 
I  rose  early  and  sat  late,  I  toiled  and  moiled,  and  in  the  sweat 
of  my  brow  and  of  my  soul  I  strove  to  gain  this  money,  that 
I  might  become  conspicuous,  and  have  some  honour  among 
my  fellow-creatures.  I  wanted  them  to  honour  me,  to  love 
me.  The  money  is  here,  earned  with  my  best  lifeblood  :  but 
the  honour  ?  I  am  encircled  with  squalor,  with  hunger,  rage, 
and  sooty  desperation.  Not  honoured,  hardly  even  envied  ; 
only  fools  and  the  flunkey-species  so  much  as  envy  me.  I  am 
conspicuous, — as  a  mark  for  curses  and  brickbats.  What 
good  is  it  ?  My  five  hundred  scalps  hang  here  in  my  wig- 
wam :  would  to  Heaven  I  had  sought  something  else  than 
the  scalps  ;  would  to  Heaven  I  had  been  a  Christian  Fighter, 
not  a  Chactawone  !  To  have  ruled  and  fought  not  in  a  Mam- 
monish but  in  a  Godlike  spirit ;  to  have  had  the  hearts  of  the 
people  bless  me  as  a  true  ruler  and  captain  of  my  people ; 
to  have  felt  my  own  heart  bless  me,  and  that  God  above  in- 
stead of  Mammon  below  was  blessing  me, — this  had  been 
something.  Out  of  my  sight,  ye  beggarly  five  hundred  scalps 
of  banker 's-thousands :  I  will  try  for  something  other,  or  ac- 
count my  life  a  tragical  futility !  " 

Friend  Prudence's  'rock-ledge,'  as  we  called  it,  will  gradu- 
ally disclose  itself  to  many  a  man  ;  to  all  men.  Gradually, 
assaulted  from  beneath  and  from  above,  the  Stygian  mud- 
deluge  of  Laissez-faire,  Supply-and-demand,  Cash-payment 
the  one  Duty,  will  abate  on  all  hands  ;  and  the  everlasting 
mountain-tops,  and  secure  rock-foundations  that  reach  to  the 
centre  of  the  world,  and  rest  on  Nature's  self,  will  again 
emerge,  to  found  on,  and  to  build  on.  When  Mammon-wor- 
shippers here  and  there  begin  to  be  God-worshippers,  and 
bipeds-of-prey  become  men,  and  there  is  a  Soul  felt  once 
more  in  the  huge-pulsing  elephantine  mechanic  Animalism  of 
this  Earth,  it  will  be  again  a  blessed  Earth. 

"Men  cease  to  regard  money?"  cries  Bobus  of  Hounds- 
ditch  :  "  What  else  do  all  men  strive  for  ?  The  very  Bishop 
informs  me  that  Christianity  cannot  get  on  without  a  mini- 
mum of  Four  thousand  five  hundred  in  its  pocket.  Cease  to 
regard  money  ?  That  will  be  at  Doomsday  in  the  afternoon ! " 


284: 


HOROSCOPE. 


— O  Bobus,  my  opinion  is  somewhat  different.  My  opinion 
is,  that  the  Upper  Powers  have  not  yet  determined  on  de- 
stroying this  Lower  World.  A  respectable,  ever-increasing 
minority,  who  do  strive  for  something  higher  than  money,  I 
with  confidence  anticipate  ;  ever-increasing,  till  there  be  a 
sprinkling  of  them  found  in  all  quarters,  as  salt  of  the  Earth 
once  more.  The  Christianity  that  cannot  get  on  without  a 
minimum  of  Four  thousand  five  hundred,  will  give  place  to 
something  better  that  can.  Thou  wilt  not  join  our  small 
minority,  thou  ?  Not  till  Doomsday  in  the  afternoon  ?  Well ; 
then,  at  least,  thou  wilt  join  it,  thou  and  the  majority  in 
mass  ! 

But  truly  it  is  beautiful  to  see  the  brutish  empire  of  Mam- 
mon cracking  everywhere  ;  giving  sure  promise  of  dying,  or 
of  being  changed.  A  strange,  chill,  almost  ghastly  day  spring 
strikes  up  in  Yankeeland  itself  :  my  Transcendental  friends 
announce  there  in  a  distinct,  though  somewhat  lankhairecl, 
ungainly  manner,  that  the  Demiurgus  Dollar  is  dethroned  ; 
that  new  unheard  of  Demiurgusships,  Priesthoods,  Aristocra- 
cies, Growths  and  Destructions,  are  already  visible  in  the 
grey  of  coming  Time.  Chronos  is  dethroned  by  Jove  ;  Odin 
by  St.  Olaf  :  the  Dollar  cannot  rule  in  Heaven  forever.  No, 
I  reckon,  not.  Socinian  Preachers  quit  their  pulpits  in  Yan- 
keeland, saying,  "  Friends,  this  is  all  gone  to  coloured  cob- 
web, we  regret  to  say  !  " — and  retire  into  the  fields  to  culti- 
|  vate  onion-beds,  and  live  frugally  on  vegetables.  It  is  very 
notable.  Old  godlike  Calvinism  declares  that  its  old  body  is 
now  fallen  to  tatters,  and  done  ;  and  its  mournful  ghost,  dis- 
embodied, seeking  new  embodiment,  pipes  again  in  the  winds ; 
— a  ghost  and  spirit  as  yet,  but  heralding  new  Spirit- worlds, 
and  better  Dynasties  than  the  Dollar  one. 

Yes,  here  as  there,  light  is  coming  into  the  world  ;  men 
love  not  darkness,  they  do  love  light.  A  deep  feeling  of  the 
eternal  nature  of  Justice  looks  out  among  us  everywhere, — 
even  through  the  dull  eyes  of  Exeter  Hall ;  an  unspeakable 
religiousness  struggles,  in  the  most  helpless  manner,  to  speak 
itself,  in  Puseyisms  and  the  like.  Of  our  Cant,  all  condem- 
nable,  how  much  is  not  condemnable  without  pity  ;  we  had 


THE  DIDACTIC. 


2S5 


almost  said,  without  respect !  The  inarticulate  worth  and 
truth  that  is  in  England  goes  down  yet  to  the  Foundations. 

Some  'Chivalry  of  Labour/  some  noble  Humanity  and 
practical  Divineness  of  Labour,  will  yet  be  realised  on  this 
Earth.  Or  w7hy  will ;  why  do  we  pray  to  Heaven,  without 
setting  our  own  shoulder  to  the  wheel  ?  The  Present,  if  it 
will  have  the  Future  accomplish,  shall  itself  commence.  Thou 
who  prophesiest,  who  believest,  begin  thou  to  fulfil  Here  or 
nowhere,  now  equally  as  at  any  time  !  That  outcast  help- 
needing  thing  or  person,  trampled  down  under  vulgar  feet  or 
hoofs,  no  help  '  possible '  for  it,  no  prize  offered  for  the  sav- 
ing of  it, — canst  not  thou  save  it  then,  without  prize  ?  Put 
forth  thy  hand,  in  God's  name  ;  know  that  'impossible,'  where 
Truth  and  Mercy  and  the  everlasting  Voice  of  Nature  order, 
has  no  place  in  the  brave  man's  dictionary.  That  when  all 
men  have  said  "Impossible"  and  tumbled  noisily  elsewhither, 
and  thou  alone  art  left,  then  first  thy  time  and  possibility 
have  come.  It  is  for  thee  now  :  do  thou  that,  and  ask  no 
man's  counsel,  but  thy  own  only  and  God's.  Brother,  thou 
hast  possibility  in  thee  for  much:  the  possibility  of  writing 
on  the  eternal  skies  the  record  of  a  heroic  life.  That  noble 
do wnf alien  or  yet  unborn  'Impossibility,' thou  canst  lift  it 
up,  thou  canst,  by  thy  soul's  travail,  bring  it  into  clear  being. 
That  loud  inane  Actuality,  with  millions  in  its  pocket,  too 
'  possible '  that,  which  rolls  along  there,  with  quilted  trump- 
eters blaring  round  it,  and  all  the  world  escorting  it  as  mute 
or  vocal  flunkey, — escort  it  not  thou  ;  say  to  it,  either  noth- 
ing, or  else  deeply  in  thy  heart :  "  Loud-blaring  Nonentity, 
no  force  of  trumpets,  cash,  Long-Acre  art,  or  universal 
flunkeyhood  of  men,  makes  thee  an  Entity  ;  thou  art  a  Non- 
entity, and  deceptive  Simulacrum,  more  accursed  than  thou 
seemest.  Pass  on  in  the  Devil's  name,  unworshipped  by  at 
least  one  man,  and  leave  the  thoroughfare  clear  !  " 

Not  on  Ilion's  or  Latium's  plains  ;  on  far  other  plains  and 
places  henceforth  can  noble  deeds  be  now  done.  Not  on 
Ilion's  plains  ;  how  much  less  in  Mayfair's  drawingrooms  ! 
Not  in  victory  over  poor  brother  French  or  Phrygians  ;  but 
in  victory  over  Frost-jotuns,  Marsh-giants,  over  Demons  of 


280 


HOROSCOPE. 


Discord,  Idleness,  Injustice,  Unreason,  and  Chaos  come 
again.  None  of  the  old  Epics  is  longer  possible.  The  Epic  of 
French  and  Phrygians  was  comparatively  a  small  Epic  :  but 
that  of  Flirts  and  Fribbles,  what  is  that  ?  A  thing  that  van- 
ishes at  cock-crowing, — that  already  begins  to  scent  the 
morning  air  !  Game-preserving  Aristocracies,  let  them  '  bush  ' 
never  so  effectually,  cannot  escape  the  Subtle  Fowler.  Game 
seasons  will  be  excellent,  and  again  will  be  indifferent,  and  by 
and  by  they  will  not  be  at  all.  The  Last  Partridge  of  Eng- 
land, of  an  England  where  millions  of  men  can  get  no  corn 
to  eat,  will  be  shot  and  ended.  Aristocracies  with  beards 
on  their  chins  will  find  other  work  to  do  than  amuse  them- 
selves with  trundling-hoops. 

But  it  is  to  you,  ye  Workers,  who  do  already  work,  and  are 
as  grown  men,  noble  and  honourable  in  a  sort,  that  the  whole 
world  calls  for  new  work  and  nobleness.  Subdue  mutiny, 
discord,  wide-spread  despair,  by  manfulness,  justice,  mercy 
and  wisdom.  Chaos  is  dark,  deep  as  Hell  ;  let  light  be,  and 
there  is  instead  a  green  flowery  World.  O,  it  is  great,  and 
there  is  no  other  greatness.  To  make  some  nook  of  God's 
Creation  a  little  fruitfuler,  better,  more  worthy  of  God  ;  to 
make  some  human  hearts  a  little  wiser,  manfuler,  happier, — 
more  blessed,  less  accursed !  It  is  work  for  a  Gocd.  Sooty 
Hell  of  mutiny  and  savagery  and  despair  can,  by  man's  en- 
ergy, be  made  a  kind  of  Heaven  ;  cleared  of  its  soot,  of  its 
mutiny,  of  its  need  to  mutiny  ;  the  everlasting  arch  of  Hea- 
ven's azure  overspanning  it  too,  and  its  cunning  mechanisms 
and  tall  chimney-steeples,  as  a  birth  of  Heaven  ;  God  and  all 
men  looking  on  it  well  pleased. 

Unstained  by  wasteful  deformities,  by  wasted  tears  or 
heart's-blood  of  men,  or  any  defacement  of  the  Pit,  noble 
fruitful  Labour,  growing  ever  nobler,  wTill  come  forth,— ^-the 
grand  sole  miracle  of  Man  ;  wdiereby  Man  has  risen  from  the 
low  places  of  this  Earth,  very  literally,  into  divine  Heavens. 
Ploughers,  Spinners,  Builders  ;  Prophets,  Poets,  Kings  ; 
Brindleys  and  Goethes,  Odins  and  Arkwrigkts  ;  all  martyrs, 
and  noble  men,  and  gods  are  of  one  grand  Host :  immeasur- 
able ;  marching  ever  forward  since  the  Beginnings  of  the 


THE  DIDACTIC. 


287 


World.  The  enormous,  all-conquering,  flame-crowned  Host, 
noble  every  soldier  in  it ;  sacred  and  alone  noble.  Let  him 
who  is  not  of  it  hide  himself ;  let  him  tremble  for  himself. 
Stars  at  every  button  cannot  make  him  noble  ;  sheaves  of 
Bath-garters,  nor  bushels  of  Georges  ;  nor  any  other  contriv- 
ance but  manfully  enlisting  in  it,  valiantly  taking  place  and 
step  in  it.  O  Heavens,  will  he  not  bethink  himself  ;  he  too  is 
so  needed  in  the  Host !  It  were  so  blessed,  thrice-blessed, 
for  himself  and  for  us  all !  In  hope  of  the  Last  Partridge, 
and  some  Duke  of  Weimar  among  our  English  Dukes,  we  will 
be  patient  yet  a  while. 

'  The  Future  hides  in  it 
Gladness  and  sorrow  ; 
We  press  still  thorow, 
Nought  that  abides  in  it 
Daunting  us,— onward' 


